


This Falsehood of the Tongue

by Skitz_phenom



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Arthur Finds Out, Blow Jobs, Community: merlinreversebb, First Time, M/M, Magic Reveal, Rimming, Simpleton Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1571483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/pseuds/Skitz_phenom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin and Arthur encounter a group of rogue Druids who seem to have targeted Arthur, forcing Merlin to take action to protect the King.  Unfortunately Merlin’s magic has unexpected results and things don’t play out quite the way Merlin expects them to.  Arthur, meanwhile, steps into a role that goes against everything he is, and sticking with it might just prove to be the most challenging thing he’s ever done. (And Gaius just wants to brew his damn potion…) - AU Post Season 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Falsehood of the Tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merlocked18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merlocked18/gifts).



> Written for the 2013 Merlin ReverseBang on LJ. 
> 
> See the magnificent art created for this fic here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1546886
> 
> To merlocked18 - I cannot thank you enough for ... such a plethora of things. First of all, for the wonderful art that inspired this fic. Second, for being so patient and understanding when I got sidelined by pneumonia and other silly RL issues. Third, for being such a great cheerleader and idea-bouncer and wonderful person to work with on something like this. And finally, for the rest of the magnificent, jaw-dropping art you've done for my story. You're a rockstar! 
> 
> I also have to give extra special kudos to the Merlin Reverse Big Bang mods for being awesome and patient! You do such a great job with this fest... and I appreciate your understanding so much!
> 
> And I can't forget my special kudos & fluffy luffs to Daroh! My sanity-check when things got really desperate. And my booze-twin... and a fellow '75 babe. *snuggles you so hard*
> 
> NOTES: There is one scene that could be problematic for some - it's described in the end notes, and contains spoilers!

<http://archiveofourown.org/works/1546886>

Willing his arm as still as possible, Gaius slowly and carefully transfers the measured spoonful of shimmering green powder the short distance from its’ rune-carved, lead-lined wooden box to a waiting hewn-granite bowl. Hovering the spoon over the other contents of the bowl – water from an ancient, Druid spring, two feathers plucked from the tail of a hatchling Phoenix, the ground pulp of a night-blooming flower cultivated during moon-dark and two precious drops of serket venom – he takes a deep, steadying breath. The final and most exacting ingredient – thrice-blessed malachite ground to a fine grain – needs to be added in slow, steady increments. He taps the spoon once, waits a beat, and then twice and…

The door to his chambers bursts open with a clamor, slams against the wall with an even louder bang and Gaius startles and upends the entire spoonful into the mix.

It sizzles, pops and then erupts into a miniature gout of purplish-pink flame spewing oily blue smoke before burning down to a gloppy, charred muck.

“Merlin!” Gaius expels the name as a curse amidst coughing and waving the noxious, oddly sweet-smelling smoke from his face, because there’s no one else it can be. “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to complete this potion? Some of these ingredients I’ll never be able to replace.” That isn’t specifically true. Some of them were harder to come by than others, but a really well-stocked herbalist who dabbles in the arts should have them on hand.

Still, he’d waited until Merlin was supposed to be out of Camelot for more than a few hours to concoct this particular potion for just _this_ particular reason. He’d wanted to complete this – extremely difficult to brew – potion when there were no risks of interruptions. He thought he’d had his room to himself for at least three or four days.

“Sorry, Gaius,” he hears Merlin apologizing, “sorry. I’m really sorry. But I’ve got a big problem.”

Once the smoke clears Gaius can see that Merlin is stood in the doorway with a hooded figure draped over his shoulders.

He sighs, heavily, gives one last regretful little glance down at the empty, slightly scorched bowl and then rolls his shoulders back and stands. “Never mind, Merlin. It’s no harm done. What is the trouble, my boy? And who is this?” he asks as he moves to help Merlin haul the figure across the room. When he tries to stop at his own sleeping pallet Merlin just shakes his head and keeps them moving towards his own room.

“Let’s move him in here, Gaius. I don’t want anyone to see…”

And that certainly doesn’t bode well. “Merlin?” he questions, a strange apprehension churning in his stomach (although, that might’ve been from the smoke he inhaled).

The situation reveals itself as soon as they maneuver the unwieldy form onto Merlin’s bed in a messy sprawl and the hood of the tattered grey cloak falls away.

Gaius huffs in a deep breath that’s not quite a gasp and blurts, “Merlin, that’s the King!” while Merlin takes care to better arrange Arthur’s arms and legs so they’re not dangling over the edges of the bed.

“I know,” Merlin replies, sounding weirdly aggravated.

“But, what’s wrong with him? What’s happened? Why is he unconscious?” He stares down at the reposed figure and once Merlin’s unwound the cord keeping the cloak tied, peeled away the sides and managed to work it out from underneath Arthur, he’s forced to add, “And what is he wearing?” Because Arthur is dressed like a peasant. A rather shabby peasant in ill-fitting homespun at that.

Merlin doesn’t answer for a long moment, staring down at Arthur with his mouth pursed in an odd sort of moue that Gaius can’t quite make heads or tails of. There’s something around his eyes that seems sad. He shakes his head as if he’s clearing it and then shakes out the cloak and covers Arthur with it. Then he gingerly pulls off Arthur’s boots and sets them next to the bed.   All of his motions are exceedingly careful.

“Merlin?” Gaius says it softly, gently, as an odd sort of fear thrums through him.

“He’s alright, Gaius.” Merlin finally breaks the heavy silence, nodding firmly on the heels of the statement like his very words will make that the truth.

“You’re sure?” Gaius has to ask. It’s true that Arthur looks simply like a man asleep – no sign of injury or illness apparent in his lax features – but he doesn’t want to assume without performing an examination of his own.

Merlin makes an assenting noise. “Yes,” he adds after smoothing a mussed lock of hair away from Arthur’s forehead. “He’s fine. Just sleeping.”

Gaius can’t quite define the expression Merlin’s wearing as he stares down at Arthur, whose face is pressed into the pillow, a soft whistle slipping out on every exhale. It’s apprehension for sure and no small amount of exasperation, some worry as well, but there’s something else above all that, shaping it: a kind of fondness that Merlin so often doesn’t let anyone else see him express when he looks at Arthur.

“Why don’t you come and sit down, my boy.” Gaius says after a while. Merlin nods but makes no move, so Gaius takes Merlin’s arm and leads him down the three steps into the main chamber and then over to the table. Merlin doesn’t protest when Gaius pushes him to sit. He takes the bench opposite, steeples his hands and looks across the table expectantly. “Now, what happened?”

Merlin scrubs both of his hands over his face, running them back through his hair and blowing out a noisy breath before finally looking across the cluttered table at Gaius. “I’ve… put Arthur under my control again. The same spell I used back when we had to get him out of Camelot when Morgana invaded.”

“But why?” Gaius can’t help but blurt.

“It’s a very long story, Gaius.”

Gaius isn’t blind to the way that Merlin’s gaze drops to his hands where they’re splayed on the tabletop. There’s something going on here that Merlin feels quite guilty about. “Is Arthur going to wake up soon?”

Merlin shakes his head, frowning. “Not for a few hours at least, I’d suspect. I had to use a sleep spell on him.”

“What?” It slips out before Gaius can stop it. But really, Merlin has just admitted to using magic on the King twice. Gaius doesn’t think he should be blamed for the way his voice goes shrill.

“I had good reason, Gaius.” Merlin protests.

Spreading his hands, Gaius invites, “Then by all means, Merlin, tell me what those reasons are.” He doesn’t miss Merlin’s guilty fidgeting so he’s perhaps a bit pointed when he adds, ‘Not to mention what you’re doing back in Camelot so early and why Arthur is dressed as he is.”

Spots of pink bloom high on Merlin’s cheekbones, but he nods dutifully and starts to talk. “Well, we did go to the market fair, as planned. And things were going quite well for the first day.” He gives a small smile. “I did actually manage to find quite a few merchants selling herbs and tinctures and I’m fairly sure I brought back everything you asked for.”

That’s pleasing news, at least. There hadn’t been an all-kingdoms market festival in many years (since Uther’s early reign, before the purge) and when Gaius got word that one was being planned, he’d eagerly compiled a list and urged Merlin to go.

“Unfortunately,” Merlin goes on, “as close as we were to Essetir, word of the fair also spread to Ealdor.” He grimaces and Gaius knows why.

“Did you see your mother?”

Merlin bobs his head and the smile makes a brief reappearance.

Gaius can fill in the blanks. “And she brought Guinevere with her, didn’t she?”

The pleased expression falls away as Merlin nods. “Yes. I don’t think either of them expected that the King would attend personally. At least that’s what my Mother said. And Arthur and Gwen didn’t speak, but Arthur caught sight of her.” He blows out a heavy breath. “She was walking arm-in-arm with another man.   My Mother tried to reassure him that this fellow was just a friend… but, for all Arthur’s continual reassurances that he’s entirely moved on, clearly from his reaction, he _has not_.” He says the latter almost affronted.

“So what happened? Is that when you used the spell to control Arthur?”

“No,” Merlin hurries to deny. “It was after that. You see, once he saw her, Arthur decided his time would be better spent returning to Camelot, and doing some ‘much needed hunting’.” He lifts both hands to hook his fingers into the air. Both the words and movement are heavy with sarcasm. “He instructed the rest of our party to stay and enjoy themselves, but I offered to return with him.” He sighs, wearily. “I couldn’t let him go gallivanting into the woods in the mood he was in. And it’s a good thing I didn’t.”

“Why is that, my boy?”

“We were several hours in the woods when we came upon a small encampment. Fortunately we were able to approach without them noticing, as there were at least two dozen men and they were all well-armed.” Merlin frowns. “I think they may have been Druids. I saw several with tattoos and wearing Druid symbols, but they were like no Druids I’ve ever met. They looked like little more than bandits, Gaius. And they were after Arthur.”

“After Arthur?” That’s alarming. “What do you mean? How do you know this?”

“We overheard them talking. There was a man, their leader I’d guess, and he was sort of rallying them and getting them ready for a fight. I don’t know if he was a Druid himself, but had a pendant with a strange symbol on it. One I’ve never seen any of the Druid people wear before.

“And he was certainly fanatical. He was talking about rumors that the King of Camelot was going to be in attendance at the festival and that it would be a good opportunity to catch him off guard. I still don’t quite understand why they were so eager to find him, but they spoke of vengeance, and of righting wrongs done to the Druid people.” Merlin swallows, and shoots an anxious glance over to the closed door of his room. Gaius lays a hand over Merlin’s, which are twitching and tapping nervously on the tabletop, to settle him and get him to focus.

“We got out of there, and I think we were lucky to go undiscovered. But you know how Arthur is, Gaius.   He’s never one to hide who he is or back down from something. He’s made his views regarding the Druids quite clear ever since what happened with Elyan in the shrine; he hasn’t forgotten his promise. So, I think he was especially bothered that these people seemed to suggest he’d done the Druids wrong, somehow. Naturally, he wanted to find out what their grievance was, and to see if it could be settled.”

“Naturally,” Gaius agrees ruefully, because that sounds just like something that Arthur would do.  

“So, I argued for a stealthy return to Camelot, and suggested that Arthur might want to disguise himself.”

Gaius knows without asking just how well that suggestion likely went over with their King. “Arthur disagreed.” He says, quite rhetorically.

Merlin snorts. “Naturally. He wanted to return to the fair and gather up the Knights. But the thing is, Gaius, I know there was at least one man with magic among them. I saw him using it. I don’t know if Arthur did.  Maybe he wouldn’t have been so eager to return to confront them.” His hands pull themselves free from Gaius’ loose hold as he gives a rather curt shrug. “Who can say with Arthur these days? But, even if we’d gotten Gwaine and Percy and the others, there would have only been seven of us, and this man had over twice that number. Add magic to that mix, and I just thought it was too much risk. There are better ways to uncover the truth of what’s going on.”

“So,” Merlin says with a sigh, “when Arthur showed absolutely no sign of backing down and tried to get us to go back, _that’s_ when I used the spell to control his will. And it’s a good thing I did. We encountered groups of these men twice more on the way back to Camelot. They let us pass eventually, especially with Arthur dressed and acting as he was, but they were quite suspicious.”

Gaius thinks on everything Merlin has told him. It’s disturbing to hear that the Druids are taking to such uncharacteristic methods. While there are some more militant factions, most are simple folk, close to nature who wish only to live in peace. There’s something about this that doesn’t sit quite right. Merlin was correct that Arthur’s shown the Druid people the kindness and solicitousness that he swore he would. Several migratory groups of Druid folk had passed through Camelot’s lands in the last several months, and word was spreading of Arthur’s clemency.   For something to change their mood so dramatically…

“You think there’s something else at work here, don’t you, Merlin?” Gaius asks.

“It’s certainly suspicious.” Merlin agrees.

“So what will you do now? With Arthur, I mean? Can you reverse the spell?”

Merlin’s gaze drops to the tabletop again. “I uh, already tried, just before we got into the city. It didn’t work. That’s why I used the sleep spell. It made it easier to get him into the keep. He’s just too conspicuous otherwise.” He lets out another one of those world-weary sighs. “So, I think we’ll just have to wait it out. The last time this happened Arthur was back to his old self the second morning after we fled Camelot.”

“We’ll have to let Leon know that the King is back.” Gaius advises.   When Merlin starts to protest, Gaius holds up a hand. “No, Merlin. Even you can’t keep the King hidden in his own castle. Sir Leon needs to know what’s going on.”

“I can’t tell him about the spell, Gaius!” Merlin balks, as if Gaius hasn’t already considered that.

“Of course not, my boy.” Gaius tsk’s at him just a bit. He’s definitely overwrought and not thinking clearly. “We can tell Leon that Arthur was struck a blow to the head...”

But Merlin is already shaking his head. “No, that won’t work, Gaius. You didn’t see Arthur the last time he was like this, under this spell. The way he acts… it’s not like he’s a bit addled from a head wound. It’s more like, well, like he’s kind and thoughtful. He agrees with whatever I say, and apologizes and… he’s soft-spoken and helpful.”

Merlin’s mouth twists up in a distasteful grimace. “I told Tristan and Isolde that he was a simpleton because it was the easiest way to explain it, but that wasn’t accurate. While some of his words and actions were simple, not to mention a bit clumsy, it wasn’t that he couldn’t understand what I said to him or couldn’t follow my instructions; although he sometimes didn’t obey for long. He was just quiet and thoughtful and he was just so different from himself. No,” he shakes his head firmly, “if we tell Leon, we have to let Leon know that it’s magic at work. We can blame it on the rogue Druids.”

That offers its own set of concerns, but Gaius is forced to agree with Merlin. It has the added benefit that they’ll be able to keep Arthur under very close supervision.

“Alright, I’ll go have someone fetch Leon. You check on Arthur.”

Gaius rises from the table. He passes by Merlin and pauses to place a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and give a comforting squeeze.   Merlin looks up at him and his mouth quirks in a tremulous half-grin.   “It’ll be alright, my boy,” he offers with a final pat of his hand and moves on. When he looks back from the open doorway, Merlin is trudging slowly across the chamber to his room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur is dreaming. Odd sorts of dreams. The kind where one moment things seem completely normal and the next they make absolutely no sense. He is both observer and participant in what’s happening in his unconscious mind.    

He dreams he’s on horseback, but there’s something wrong with his mount. It’s as if he’s got his arms wrapped around the things neck, but he’s upright. It’s almost like when he was a boy and used to exhort some of the older Knights into giving him horsey-rides across the practice fields. Except this ride seems to go on and on.

Then the scene changes and it’s as if he’s marching in a sea of soldiers but can’t quite seem to keep in step. His feet slip and stutter and drag across cobblestone, and he’d be stumbling and falling were it not for some unseen force keeping him just barely upright, dragging him ever onward.

And all around, through this ever-changing dreamscape is sound. Sometimes cacophonous and crashing noise -the thundering of hooves, the whoosh and clatter of storming skies – and sometimes barely-heard whispers - the soft susurrus of murmuring voices that flit past his ears, frustrating him for his inability to make out what he knows are words.

Oddly, it is the absence of everything, of movement, of noise, that finally draws him from slumber. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking several times to clear the hazy sleep-film from his vision. As the world comes into focus around him, Arthur can make out that he’s in a room that’s lit only by moonlight filtering through the cracks in a wood-slatted shade, but little more than that. There’s something familiar about the space, though.

It is the smell that first clues him into where he’s at. On the air is a fragrance that’s herbal, slightly acrid and just a bit musty; definitely Gaius’ quarters. Well, specifically Merlin’s room, which he knows not only because he’s starting to recognize the space, but also because there’s a peculiar hint of something sharp and metallic – like the sky after a lightning strike – that he sometimes catches a whiff of around Merlin. Just a trace, and only now and then, but whatever the elusive scent is, it’s stronger in his chamber.

Which obviously leads him to wonder what in the world he’s doing in Merlin’s room, and in Merlin’s bed no less.

He sits up, slowly. Someone –he’s guessing Merlin – has laid a cloak over him and it slides off to the floor as he manages to swing his legs over the side of the bed.   Lifting his arms up and back in a stretch, he notices the way the fabric of his shirt pulls taut against his chest and scratches slightly. Frowning, he looks down at himself and realizes he’s wearing unfamiliar clothes. He wipes his hands over his thighs and grimaces at the coarse texture of the low-quality material.

“What the hell, Merlin?” he mutters. Because he _knows_ Merlin is behind this.

When Arthur stands he keeps a hand on the bed for a moment until he straightens because he feels a bit lightheaded. It’s much like waking after he’s spent a too-late night in the tavern with his Knights. Although he hadn’t been carousing last night. In fact, the last thing that Arthur remembers is being in the forest, in the late morning, dragging Merlin back to his horse so that they could follow after a group of Druids who seemed to have some sort of score to settle with him.

So how is it that he’s just now waking up, back in Camelot with no memory of having gotten here?

Some instinct tells him to move quietly, and he takes careful, measured steps over to the door. His sock-covered feet slide noiselessly over well-worn wood planks. He can hear the soft murmur of voices through the closed door and he drops to a knee to peer through the keyhole. Merlin and Gaius are sitting at the table, talking quite urgently. He can just barely make out the words.

Merlin is telling Gaius, “I couldn’t let him go gallivanting into the woods in the mood he was in. And it’s a good thing I didn’t.”

Arthur sniffs disdainfully while Gaius asks, “Why is that, my boy?”

Apparently, Merlin is telling Gaius of their encounter with the Druid camp, Arthur realizes. He should go out there, to make sure Merlin recounts the story accurately. Goodness knows he’s already embellishing. _Gallivanting into the woods indeed_ , Arthur thinks with a scowl.

Something about the low tone and the furtive way that Merlin is speaking stays his actions, though. Merlin _could_ just be speaking quietly for his benefit – because as far as Merlin knows, Arthur is still fast asleep - but something tells Arthur there’s more to it than that.

He continues to listen, making faces occasionally at the way Merlin describes things. He frowns when Merlin mentions that there was obvious sorcery amongst the camp; he was correct that Arthur hadn’t noticed. But why didn’t Merlin just warn him?

He’s wondering about that as Merlin lets out a sigh that is heavy and significant. “So, when Arthur showed absolutely no sign of backing down and tried to get us to go back, _that’s_ when I used the spell to control his will.”

The words are said so naturally, and there’s no reaction to them from Gaius, that it takes Arthur a moment to really comprehend what he just heard.

Merlin… used a spell?

Arthur blinks.

He _had_ to have misheard that. It’s just… impossible.

Merlin couldn’t have used a spell. He’s just… Merlin.

But no, because a few moments later Gaius asks Merlin if he can _reverse the spell_!

Arthur reels and it’s only by dropping a quick bracing hand to the floor that he stops himself falling over.

Merlin is a sorcerer.

 _Mer_ lin.

Who is still talking to Gaius as if this is all entirely normal for the two of them to discuss. Who knows? Maybe it is? Maybe Merlin uses magic on him all the time. Gods, just the thought is so terrible and so huge…

Something sharp and burning churns in Arthur’s gut. Nausea roils up and he has to swallow hard, several times, to steady his wavering stomach.

 _Merlin_ is a sorcerer.

Merlin has used magic on _him_. On the King.

And apparently Gaius is complicit in this as well.

He has to push this newfound knowledge to the back of his mind. He needs to know what the hell Merlin is up to. Apparently whatever _spell_ Merlin used on him (and even thinking that makes Arthur’s brain – and heart - hurt) is something he’s done before.

Arthur thinks back to waking up in the forest of Essiter after Morgana and Agravaine had invaded the castle, and he’s struck by the familiarity of the situation. The ‘morning after’ feeling, wearing ridiculous clothes, no memory of how he got there…

He scrubs a hand over his face. What the hell is he supposed to do? He’s half-tempted to go charging into the other room to confront Merlin immediately. But he suspects that will earn him nothing but denial and lies. Instead he fights that instinct and forces himself to keep listening. To see what he can learn from Gaius and Merlin’s conversation.

Which is apparently a rather detailed description of how he acted the last time that Merlin used this spell on him. At Merlin’s words, a chill runs down Arthur’s spine and judders through his skin. No wonder Tristan found it so easy to believe him a fool and an unworthy king.  

Fuming over that he realizes he’s missed something about Leon?

Oh, Gaius is going to fetch Leon.

And Merlin is starting to head back to his room.

Dammit!

Arthur panics a moment before scrambling back to the bed. He grabs at the cloak and has just managed to drag it partially over himself when he hears the door open and light floods into the room. Trying not to look like he’s just been out of bed and spying through the keyhole, Arthur squeezes his eyes shut in a wince, mumbling and shifting around like the sudden brightness disturbs his sleep.

“Sorry,” he hears Merlin whisper and the next thing he knows, Merlin is tugging the cloak back over him fully, covering him like it’s a blanket.

“Merlin?” he fakes a sleepy mutter, hoping he sounds sufficiently ‘simple’. “Is’sat you?”

“Shhh,” Merlin coos. “Go back to sleep, Arthur. It’s alright. You’re safe.”

He doesn’t wince at what he assumes is meant to comfort. Safe? He’s being tucked into bed by a sorcerer for God’s sake! Arthur plays along though, because he needs more time to figure out what to do.   He feigns settling back into slumber, pressing his face deeper into the pillow. He even makes little snuffling, snoring noises, though he feels a bit foolish doing so. He can tell without peeking that Merlin is standing over him, staring down at him.

He’s just lucky that Merlin can’t tell how fast his heart his racing.   Just to be on the safe side, he shifts a little, pulling the edge of the cloak up and tucking it against his chin so Merlin won’t be able to see the thrum of his rapid pulse beneath the skin in his neck.

Merlin makes a noise at that… it sounds oddly fond. Arthur honestly doesn’t know what to think about _that_.

Fortunately only a few more (ungodly long) minutes pass before Arthur hears noises coming from the main chamber. He’s guessing that means Gaius has managed to summon Leon. He listens as Merlin’s footsteps retreat, but to his dismay there’s no tell-tale clicking of the door. When he peeks one eye open there’s still a sliver of light cutting into the room from the door that’s Merlin’s left cracked open a fraction.

During the span of two breaths he debates trying to sneak out of the bed again to eavesdrop, regardless of the risk, then decides against it. He knows, from listening to their conversation, that Gaius and Merlin plan to tell Leon that Arthur’s been afflicted by some kind of spell as a result of an encounter with the Druids. It would definitely be curious to see how Merlin and Gaius manage this explanation, but he’s better served just lying quietly, trying to gather his thoughts.

He realizes, as he listens to the steady but indistinct drone of voices that just carry into the room, that this ‘simpleton’ act is the perfect opportunity for him to discover just what Merlin’s been up to.   He can stick by Merlin’s side, follow him around, and snoop to his heart’s content and from the sounds of it, that kind of behavior won’t be at all suspicious.  

Plus, it seems that whatever magic Merlin used on him is taking its toll. The rushing spike of heart-pounding anxiety that followed on the heels of his discovery is waning, and seems to have used up the last of his resources. He tries to fight the pull of sleep – as he gets the feeling he was asleep for quite some time already – but, his eyelids flutter shut of their own volition and it’s a struggle to force them open. In spite of everything, especially the unfamiliar and unwelcome frisson of fear that comes with thinking of spending the night in Merlin’s room (something he’d have found laughable just that morning) Arthur falls asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Arthur wakes the next morning it only takes those first, hazy moments of stretching out sleep-deadened limbs to realize he’s not in his own bed. And on the heels of that awareness, the memories of the night before come flooding back. He sits up quickly, mentally cursing himself for having fallen so deeply asleep. For having left himself so vulnerable to a sorcerer, to… Merlin.

Which is such an incomprehensible thought that it almost makes him laugh aloud. Because if Merlin’s a sorcerer, has always been a sorcerer, Arthur’s been unknowingly vulnerable for so very long.

That leads his mind down paths he’s not willing – not ready – to follow, so he shakes off those thoughts to take stock of his current situation. From the way the pale beams of sunlight are angling through the wooden shutters it’s still early in the morning. There’s a soft rumbling sound coming from the floor and when Arthur looks down he’s not at all surprised to see Merlin, asleep on a makeshift pallet of blankets next to the bed.

He’s on his belly, face mashed sideways into a raggedy pillow and the snoring is issuing from his parted mouth. There’s a string of drool dripping down from his bottom lip, leaving a damp spot on the sleeve of his tunic where one arm is bent awkwardly beneath his chin. He doesn’t look like someone who could harm a flea. He couldn’t look less like what Arthur has always imagined when he thinks of sorcerers. He looks… harmless. Innocent.

He looks like no more than the Merlin that Arthur has known, and trusted, for so many years…

Arthur shakes off the fondness that starts to creep into his heart. He can’t let his mind get pulled down _those_ lines either. He needs to remember what Merlin is. That Merlin has hidden this from him for years. That’s he’s lied. And Arthur’s going to learn as much as he can about just how deep those lies go.

He thinks back to Merlin’s description of his behavior the last time he was under this apparent spell. He’d mentioned clumsy. Arthur is definitely going to take advantage of that. He gets off the bed and ‘accidentally’ kicks Merlin as he steps past him towards the door.

Merlin is up in an instant, pushing himself up from the floor like an inchworm and craning his head back to stare at Arthur blearily. If he wasn’t forcing his traitorous mind away from such thoughts, Arthur might find Merlin’s sleepy befuddlement rather endearing. But he doesn’t. At all.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks, blinking up at him as he tries to get his limbs to cooperate. “Good morning. How are you feeling this morning?” He asks the latter question quite tentatively.

Arthur takes a breath before answering. This is his first ‘test’ to see if he can get away with playing simple-minded well enough to fool Merlin. He presses his lips together a moment in what he hopes is a placid looking grin and then says, “Ummm, I feel good. A little sleepy still.” He draws back one side of his mouth, quirking it sheepishly. “Hungry, too.”

For a moment Merlin’s face falls and Arthur’s breath catches. Was he too obvious? Does Merlin realize he’s back to normal?

Then Merlin smiles brightly. It only looks a little bit forced. “Well let’s get you some breakfast then, shall we?”

Arthur doesn’t let out the sigh of relief he wants to make, but it’s a near thing. He nods eagerly instead, to cover. “That would be nice, thank you.”

He waits for Merlin to scramble to his feet and then splash some water on his face from the jug and basin on the low table below the window. When they step down into the main chamber Gaius is absent, but Merlin makes his way to the table and gestures to it, inviting Arthur to sit. “Wait here a moment while I see what Gaius has left heating.”

Arthur nods dutifully and sits down on the bench.

He watches curiously as Merlin takes the lid off of a cook pot that’s hanging from a campfire iron over a small fire pit (banked but still smoldering) and gives a surreptitious sniff at the steam that wafts out. “Looks like porridge,” Merlin comments with more of that feigned enthusiasm. Arthur can’t blame him. He’s never been fond of the gummy, flavor-less stuff.   He’ll have to find a way to suggest to Merlin that he fetch Arthur’s meals from the Royal kitchens.

Merlin scoops out two bowls, but instead of handing one over right away, he sets them both down at the far end of the table and starts adding things. Arthur observes as first what look like dried bits of twigs and other unidentifiable things are crumbled in followed by heaping spoons of dark sugar and then Merlin pours in a splash of hot water from the kettle that was hung next to the porridge pot. He stirs each bowl carefully and then takes a scrolled piece of bark and scrapes it against the edge of a knife above each, letting a fine, dark powder sprinkling down to dust the tops.

“Here you go.” Merlin slides the heaping and now weirdly fragrant bowl over to Arthur and then hands him a spoon.

He scoops up a spoonful and eyes it warily.

Merlin laughs and it’s the first genuine sound he’s made so far this morning. “Just try it, Arthur. I know porridge isn’t your favorite, but Gaius and I have learned how to make the best of what we have.” To demonstrate he takes a large bite of his own.

Because it’s likely what the Arthur under a spell would do, Arthur follows suit. He’s not sure what he’s expecting – a barely tolerable breakfast at the least – but to his surprises the porridge actually tastes… good. Whatever Merlin stirred in has added both varying textures and flavors. He chews and swallows and looks across the table to see Merlin watching him expectantly. “It’s good.” He takes another bite and says through the mouthful, “really good.”

“Probably shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” Merlin chides, but it’s gently said and he’s smiling like he’s pleased by Arthur’s reaction.

“What’s in it?” Arthur asks after a few more eager spoonfuls, both because he _does_ want to know (he’d actually eat the cook’s porridge if it tasted like this) and because he wants to get Merlin talking to him.

“Oh, just some dried fruit and nuts and a little bit of cinnamon. It’s nothing special. But porridge is inexpensive and easy to cook. Gaius and I have just learned what kinds of things we can mix in to make it taste better.”

Arthur just nods along. Although the words give him a moment’s pause. He’d never considered that Merlin and Gaius would have so little afforded to them for sustenance. Gaius – and by extension, Merlin – is both part of the Castle’s populace, and apart from it. He draws pay from the royal coffers, but is responsible for his own pantry and sundries. It’s the way Uther had always arranged things, and Arthur’s never even given it a second thought. He highly doubts that Uther increased Gaius’ stipend when Merlin came to live with him. It’s definitely something he should remedy. Perhaps Merlin would be less likely to pilfer bits from his breakfast trays if he were better provided for?

Of course as soon as he has that thought, Arthur wants to kick himself. He’s supposed to be trying to get Merlin talking about the magic. Not musing about porridge and the plight of underpaid servants.

“Well, it’s very good, Merlin. Thank you.” And apparently that’s, again, the right thing to say because Merlin’s smile widens. He flounders a bit at how to proceed though. He’s getting the impression that the simpleton version of himself wasn’t much for idle chit-chat and probably took his cues from Merlin. So he finishes his breakfast and waits for more opportunities to get Merlin talking.

Arthur’s just scraping the last of his bowl when the door opens and Gaius walks in. He spots Arthur at the table and pauses. He gives a brief, significant glance to Merlin, who shakes his head minutely (an exchange Arthur would likely have overlooked had he not been paying careful attention), and then says brightly, “Good morning, Your Highness. And how are you this morning?”

Arthur’s quite sure he’s not imaging the fact that Gaius is speaking to him rather loud and deliberately. “Oh, I’m very well, Gaius. Merlin just gave me some really delicious porridge.”

Gaius shoots another of those quick, somewhat alarmed, looks to Merlin and then nods at Arthur in an exaggerated fashion. “That’s very good to hear, Sire.” He jerks his head to the side, clearly wanting to talk to Merlin privately.

Again, Merlin gives a quick little nod. He stacks their empty bowls and hands them over. “Arthur, could you give these bowls a wash?” He nods his head towards the corner. “There’s a bucket over there you can rinse them in. And then you can empty that in the garderobe.”

It takes all of Arthur’s control not to bristle at being given such a menial task, especially when he knows it’s just to keep him occupied so Merlin can go have a private consultation with Gaius. But Merlin had said that he’d been ‘helpful’ when under the spell, so he grits his teeth on any outward reaction, bobs his head in an agreeable nod and takes the bowls. “Of course, Merlin.”

He can only hear snippets of the furious whispering that goes on between Merlin and Gaius while he slowly works at cleaning the dishes as quietly as he can manage. Gaius seems concerned that the spell hasn’t worn off, but Merlin is quick to reassure him that it may take more time. They discuss something about the Druids that Arthur can’t quite make out, but whatever is said leaves Merlin looking rather grim.

He lingers a few moments after the bowls and spoons are clean, but Merlin and Gaius’ conversation seems to be at an end, and Merlin directs him down the hall to empty the wash-water.

When he comes back into Gaius’ chamber after dumping the bucket, and availing himself of the room for its intended purpose, Arthur finds Leon inside. He and Merlin and Gaius are talking amongst themselves but they all quiet – immediately, as if that’s not at all suspicious - as soon as he enters the room.

Leon’s eyes go wide and grow wider as he looks Arthur over from head to toe. Somehow, Arthur doesn’t blush, though he knows what a spectacle he must make in the peasant’s garb. He lifts the bucket he’s still holding. “That’s all done, Merlin,” he says brightly. Let Leon see that Merlin’s got the King of Camelot doing a servant’s work.

Leon, as Arthur hoped, casts a peculiar glance at Merlin before fixing him with the same carefully cheerful expression that Gaius had used. Arthur suspects he’s going to get quite sick of being looked at like that. “Good morning, my Lord.”

Hating himself just a little bit, Arthur gives what he hopes is a rather dopey grin. “Morning, Leon.”

His cheerfulness certainly seems to take Leon aback because he just stares a moment, mouth opening and closing like he doesn’t know what to say. Finally he gives a tentative grin and says, “I uh… just wanted to ask you if you’d approve sending a squad of Knights to meet with Gwaine and the others. In case they encounter those Druids.”

 _Of course_ he should send them, Arthur thinks. But he can’t just come out and say that. He looks to Merlin. “What do you think, Merlin?”

The slightly panicked expression on Merlin’s face gives Arthur no end of satisfaction. He wonders how well they explained all of this to Leon. He can’t for one minute think that his best Knight, the man he trusts with his Kingdom and rule above all others, will simply _accept_ Merlin making the King’s decisions for him.

“I think it’s a very good idea, your Highness.” Merlin says. “Don’t you?”

Arthur nods dumbly. “Oh, of course.”

To his utter dismay Leon actually gives a relieved little huff at that and inclines his head dutifully. “Of course, my Lord. I’ll see to it right away.” He arches forward in a curt half-bow and then hurries from the room.

What the hell was Leon expecting? That he’d do something foolish like _disagree_ with the idea of sending more men? Great… just great. Leon obviously thinks that Arthur’s beyond reason and can’t be trusted with the simplest of decisions.  Not only that, he’s putting decisions that could affect the whole Kingdom in the hands of a sorcerer!

He’s starting to second guess this whole plan.

Perhaps a direct confrontation _is_ the better way to go?

He quashes that thought almost as soon as he’s had it. He already knows that if he goes that route, Merlin (and Gaius, clearly) will just continue to lie and prevaricate and spin whatever falsehoods he needs to allay Arthur’s suspicions. And short of taking extremely drastic measure, like the threat of burning or beheading (which Arthur can’t even fathom), he doesn’t know how to get Merlin to admit the truth. He needs to catch Merlin in the act and have that irrefutable proof…

So he’ll wait and observe and be ready to ‘miraculously recover’ should something absolutely dire require his attention. And in the meantime he’ll continue his odd sort of mummery.

Which apparently is going to involve sitting around in Gaius’ quarters while Merlin and Gaius start pulling out stacks of books and dusty tomes and researching something.   From the brief words they’re exchanging, Arthur susses out that it’s got to do with the Druids and some symbols that Merlin spotted. He watches as Merlin takes a stick of charcoal and sketches it out on a scrap of parchment.

Gaius takes the crude drawing, holding it at arm’s length, and studies it a moment and then grabs one of the books decisively. He flips through a moment, stops at a page and points.

Merlin peers down at the inked symbol and then shakes his head. “No, it looked more like this.” Merlin pulls the drawing back to correct his markings. “Less curls and more swoops. And these odd prongs at the end.” Gaius nods and they both go back to their respective books.

“Can I help?” Arthur offers, because he’s feeling a bit forgotten just standing there.

Merlin looks up guiltily. “Oh, right. Of course, Arthur.” He narrows his eyes at Gaius, asking a silent question.

Gaius blinks up at him, eyebrows nearly touching in the center as he frowns thoughtfully. “We’re just going through some books, Sire. But perhaps you could help me with another task.”

Arthur wouldn’t object to looking through the books. He’s already wondering if some of them contain _more_ than just history and fact, but he doesn’t think arguing is something he should try to get away with just yet. So he nods agreeably. “I can do that, Gaius. Just show me what needs doing.”

What ‘needs’ doing is crushing up some kind of herbs in a mortar and pestle.   Gaius demonstrates as if he were teaching a small child. “Just press the larger end of this part into the bowl and grind the leaves over and over until they form a paste.”

Arthur nods and takes over. He tries not to feel rather humiliated that Gaius watches over his shoulder for several moments to make sure he’s getting it right. “Very good, my boy.” He pats Arthur on the shoulder and then rejoins Merlin at the table and goes back to the books.

Tedious as the task may be, it’s quiet work and it seems that Merlin and Gaius forget about his presence as they continue to work on unraveling whatever mystery they’re after.

“Was it only the leader who wore that symbol?” Gaius asks.

“Yes,” Merlin confirms. “While a few of the others had tattoos or jewelry that I recognized, the leader was the only one I saw wearing that particular version of the triskelion.”

Gaius makes a humming sound and continues flipping pages.

A few more minutes pass. The silence is hemmed in by the sounds of rustling paper and Arthur’s rhythmic rumble of stone rubbing against stone. He wonders if this is how Merlin and Gaius often spend their time whenever Merlin’s not working for him. It’s oddly peaceful.

He’s not wholly surprised by that. There are times when he’s in his own quarters, concentrating on some matter of state or another, that the background sounds of Merlin cleaning or polishing provides him with just the right amount of comforting distraction. Sometimes he just cannot think straight without Merlin there, in his space, with his clumsy tidying and endless prattle.

And as with those occasions, Arthur can’t help the way his thoughts start to stray. He thinks on all the time he’s spent with Merlin, alone in his quarters. Those moments when he’s felt that Merlin was the only person he could trust or confide in. His stomach feels pinched with tension when he considers the fact that in all that time, Merlin was keeping this huge secret from him.

Perhaps, he muses, that’s what hurts the most in all this. Yes, it’s a hell of a shock that Merlin ( _Mer_ lin of all people) is a sorcerer. He’s still not even sure he believes it to be true. But he’s trusted Merlin with _so much._

Merlin has been there through some, hell _most_ , of his best and worst moments. He’s the only one that Arthur’s ever been able to open up to about his feelings surrounding his father, and his doubts about being a good and fair King and even about Guinevere. He can’t help but think about the time last year, after they reclaimed Camelot from Morgana and the Southron army, when Gwen chose to return to Ealdor rather than stay with him. She’d been right, ultimately, when she’d said that he might forgive her her transgression, but would never be able to look past the fact that she’d loved another man as much as (or – in truth - more than) she loved him. He couldn’t compete against a memory. Still… on the heels of a victory marred by sorrow and with his own self-doubt still plaguing him, her decision had rocked him to the core.

Merlin was the first person he told. And Merlin was the one who dragged him back from the tavern that night and pulled off his boots and rolled him into his bed and made him drink half a damn waterskin before he finally passed out.

Of course, thinking about that whole event – Agravaine’s betrayal leading to the loss of the keep, Merlin apparently using magic on him to get him to safety, the way that Merlin strove to rekindle Arthur’s confidence in himself as king - Morgana’s lack of magic during that final confrontation starts to make an odd sort of sense. He’d never really questioned why such a powerful sorceress suddenly couldn’t call on the magic that she so relied on. Hadn’t Merlin looked especially exhausted the morning they retook the keep and the castle?

If he’s got magic strong enough to combat Morgana, then why hasn’t he admitted to it? Why hasn’t he offered Arthur his help in defeating her? Does he really not trust Arthur after all this time?

A harsh scraping sends a judder up his forearm and he looks into the bowl to see that the plant he’s been grinding is worn to a consistency not unlike the porridge and he’s only grinding the mortar into the pestle at this point.   Forcing a calming breath he adds more of the plant to the bowl and starts mashing again.

Perhaps this isn’t the best time to think such thoughts. He hasn’t even considered what he’s actually going to say when he confronts Merlin. Or what he’s going to do. There’s still the law -his father’s laws - against magic. And Merlin’s been breaking them probably since he set foot in the kingdom.  

But Arthur wouldn’t… he’d never even consider…

Does Merlin think that he would actually carry out any of that punishment? The sick feeling returns, tightening his throat and making his eyes sting. Could Merlin really think that of him? It starts him wondering if Merlin really has no idea just how much he means… just how important he’s become…

He’s drawn, rather harshly, from his dark brooding by the loud slap of a hand on the table. He looks up to see Merlin gesturing at the book that’s open in front of him. “This is it. This is the symbol the man was wearing.”

“Let me see that.” Gaius pushes up spectacles that have slipped down nearly to the tip of his nose and he slides the book across the table and peers at it. “Ahh,” he says after a moment of reading silently, “this is interesting. This is the symbol of the Ríastrad, a long dead sect of Druid warriors. They were said to have had the power to transform themselves; not into beasts or monsters, but beings of immeasurable strength and power. How much of that is true and how much myth is unclear. What is certain is that they’ve not been seen in centuries.”

Merlin frowns and scratches at his head. “So does this mean he’s one of these Ríastrad?”

“I don’t think so, Merlin. In fact, I suspect he’s an imposter. Perhaps not a Druid at all.”

“Why do you think that?” Merlin asks.

Gaius taps a weathered finger at one of the passages. “You said you observed some of the other Druids in the camp using magic, but not this leader.”

Arthur fights not to perk his head up further at that, though he listens carefully. He continues mashing the leaves and stems; his arm is actually getting a little sore from the repetitive motion.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Merlin agrees. “He was impassioned in his speech and trying to rally the others, but I never saw any evidence that he had magic.”

“Then that’s his giveaway. The Ríastrad used their magic almost unconsciously, especially when it came to inciting their followers. You’re sure you didn’t sense—“ he stops himself and flicks a hesitant, sideward glance toward Arthur.

“Not to worry, Gaius.” Merlin hurries to reassure him. “No matter what he overhears, Arthur won’t remember it when the spell wears off. He’ll have no memory of this.”

Accepting that with a nod, Gaius goes on, though he does keep his voice low, “You couldn’t sense anything about this leader, could you?

Merlin shakes his head. “No, nothing, Gaius. And I could definitely… uh… sense some of the others in the camp who weren’t being obvious with it, but nothing at all from him.”

It’s not _quite_ an admission. The worst Arthur could do with that information is punish Merlin for being able sense those who had magic. Not exactly a welcome revelation, but not what he’s waiting to hear.

“So why is this imposter trying to stir up trouble with the Druids?” Merlin wonders.

Which is a good question. Arthur’s been wondering about the reasoning for the Druids seeming to mass against him. He thought he’d done a fair and just thing by promising to never harm the Druid people again. It hadn’t been an easy promise to make; his father’s voice screaming at the back of his head the whole time… telling him how foolish it was and how the Druids were nothing but people who couldn’t be trusted. But after it was done, he knew it had been the right thing to do. And he’s kept to his word, so why is this happening now?

A thought occurs to him then, and he can’t not share it. “Maybe they don’t want to stir up trouble with the druids?” He voices it as a sort-of question, like he’s not sure if he’s thinking about it the right way.

“What do you mean, Arthur?” Merlin asks. He’s canted his head to the side and is staring at Arthur quite intently.  

“Sorry,” he goes for contrite, ducking his head and looking up at Merlin from beneath his mussed fringe. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted.”

Merlin gestures invitingly, his expression and voice both going soft. “No, it’s alright. Please, tell me what you were thinking. What did you mean that it’s not the druids that someone wants to stir up trouble with?”

Arthur sets down the equipment and spreads his hands somewhat broadly. “Oh, I was just thinking that maybe it’s me they want to cause trouble with. You know, since the Druids are our friends now.” He screws up his face in befuddlement. “Perhaps not. Maybe you shouldn’t listen to me.”

But Merlin is nodding. “No, Arthur, that’s a very good thought. What if this isn’t so much about causing trouble with the Druids as someone trying to keep you distracted?”

“Morgana?” Gaius asks immediately.

Merlin continues to nod as he thinks it through. “I didn’t think so at first, because she wants magic to be allowed in the kingdom once more, just as the Druids do.  And I thought she respected the Druids. But, we’ve seen first-hand that she’s willing to throw away those ideals for personal vendettas. I think that Arthur’s right.” He starts to gesticulate as he speaks, hands cutting arcs through the air and waving about in front of him. “She’s orchestrating this; riling up animosity between the Druids and Arthur knowing that it’s something that he won’t be able to ignore. Especially not with the recent end to enmity between Camelot and the Druid people.”

Gaius purses his mouth thoughtfully but doesn’t look too convinced. “To what end?”

Merlin gives a rather loose-shouldered shrug. “A distraction, perhaps, to keep us focused on this situation while she plots something else?

Arthur risks speaking up again. “Maybe she just wants to use them against me because they have magic? Because that’s something we can’t fight with swords.” He nods firmly as if this is a very serious truth.

Eyes going wide, Merlin points at him. “Yes, but that’s it! She’s building herself a free army! She’s going to try to stir up enough animosity that the Druids will feel they _have_ to take action.”

He positively beams at Arthur, and despite himself, Arthur’s return grin is full and genuine. He’s reminded of all the reasons that he and Merlin work so well together. Their give and take, and the way Merlin can lead his mind down paths he might not otherwise tread.

He doesn’t want to spoil the warmth curling low in his belly by thinking about magic and sorcerers. He should. He should quash this inexplicable affection under the heel of betrayal and heartbreak… but he just can’t bring himself to summon those painful feelings to the surface.

“If that’s the case, then we’ll need to take action to fix things with the Druids.” Gaius says.

His words – loud and ringing in the stillness that had fallen - break the odd, lingering connection between them. Merlin, Arthur notices, ducks his chin and a faint hint of pink blooms to the surface high on his cheeks. Arthur would normally look away (it’s what he usually does when these kinds of moments linger too long between them) and find something else to catch his attention… but he then he remembers that doesn’t _have_ to.

He’s absolutely free to be uncouth and slightly inappropriate and even a bit daft.  

So he just continues to stare at Merlin, smiling and enjoying the discomfited expressions that get more and more flustered and reddened every time Merlin glances up at him and catches him still staring.

“Um,” Merlin coughs nosily to clear his throat. “I agree, Gaius. We should seek out some of our friends among the Druid people. Perhaps I can find Iseldir?  He’s always been willing to speak with me.”

“I think you’re right, my boy. We should get to the bottom of this quickly and reassure the Druids that Arthur has kept true to his words of peace. The last thing we need is this false Ríastrad to rally any more to his cause.”

Merlin inclines his head towards Arthur. “Would you mind, Gaius?”

Distracted as he is watching the flush fade from Merlin’s neck, it takes Arthur a moment to realize what Merlin is getting at.

Oh, _no_. There’s no way Merlin’s going off into the woods chasing down Druids and leaving Arthur behind!

But that’s apparently just what Merlin has in mind. He crosses the few steps to the table where Arthur is once again clutching the mortar and pestle and puts his hands on Arthur’s biceps. “Arthur,” he says slowly and firmly, looking him in the eye, “I need you to stay here, with Gaius.”

Arthur’s pout his half genuine. “I’d rather go with you, Merlin. No offense, Gaius.”

Gaius sighs, but ignores the slight.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but you can’t come along. You have to stay here with Gaius. Do you understand?”

It’s almost belatedly that Arthur remembers that this spell that Merlin thinks he has him under is meant to override someone’s will. He should be doing what Merlin asks of him. So he makes a face but bobs his head up and down. “Of course, Merlin. Whatever you say.”

Merlin gives his arms a pat and then reaches up to ruffle Arthur’s hair and push the errant fringe away from his forehead. “Good. Thank you, Arthur.”

For some reason, that simple bit of easy affection unnerves him almost as much as anything else that’s gone on. Discomfited, he turns his attention back to the herbs, needing something to help him get his control back. He smashes the herbs with what is probably too much force, pulverizing them.

Apparently Merlin means to leave right away.   He starts pulling together a pack, putting the book inside, and talking to Gaius the whole while. “There’s regularly been a Druid encampment in the woods near Avalon. That’s only a couple of hours from here and I’m hoping it’s still there. If so, maybe they can get a message to Iseldir.”

“You’ll hurry back, though, won’t you?” Gaius asks with a concerned glance towards Arthur.

Merlin nods. “I’ll try to be back before nightfall.”

“Very well, Merlin. And do be careful.” Gaius puts a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and pats it a few times.

“Don’t worry,” Merlin assures him, “I will be. You as well. Keep an eye on Arthur.” He hesitates a moment, as if he wants to say more on the matter, but holds his tongue.

“Of course. I’ll look after him.”

Merlin crosses the room to stand before Arthur. “I won’t be gone long, Arthur. Remember to listen to Gaius, yeah?”

Arthur gives an exaggerated nod. “I will, Merlin.” He can’t help adding a soft, “Come back soon.”

Merlin’s bottom lip pushes up, setting his mouth in just the barest frown, but his eyes crinkle at the corners. In fondness, Arthur thinks. Or something close to it. “I will, Arthur.” Merlin echoes his words back to him and lifts his hand again as if he’s going to touch Arthur. Perhaps to ruffle his hair again, or… Arthur doesn’t know what. Unfortunately, Merlin catches the motion and stays his hand and Arthur feels oddly disappointed as Merlin turns away.

After Merlin leaves the room Gaius comes over to take a look at Arthur’s progress on the herbs. “Very good, Sire. Perhaps you could help me with a few other tasks as well?”

He doesn’t sigh, no matter how much he wants to. Gaius’ tactic for dealing with him is apparently going to be to keep him busy with menial tasks. But that’s going to work in his favor for his later plans, so he purses his mouth in concentration and nods agreeably. “I’d be happy to, Gaius. Just show me what to do.”

Gaius sets him to work on tying herbs for drying, and once he finishes that, has him carefully scraping the inner layer off of some kind of bark. Luckily he doesn’t seem to expect Arthur to talk, and other than checking on his progress now and again, he mostly leaves Arthur to work in silence. Arthur’s just finishing tipping the scrapings into a small jar when Gaius makes a grumbling noise.

Arthur looks over at where he’s standing at one of the many tables that’s piled haphazardly with jars and bottles and liquids and powders… and a plethora of unusual equipment and archaic oddities that always make Arthur a little uncomfortable when he looks at them. He’s been mixing tonics for various patients in the lower town, and as Arthur watches he straightens up from where he’s been hunched over, puts a hand to his lower back and groans.

Arthur’s sympathy must be showing on his face because Gaius looks over and gives a rueful chuckle. “I think it’s time for a break, my boy. What do you say to some lunch?”

“I’d like that.”

Gaius’ brows dip inward as his eyes narrow and Arthur recognizes his deeply thoughtful expression. His gaze flickers from Arthur to the door and back again. “I think that perhaps it wouldn’t be amiss of me to fetch something from the kitchens. I doubt I have anything suitable for the King on hand.”

Arthur forces himself to say, “Oh, anything would be fine, Gaius.” Though he really hopes Gaius doesn’t listen, because there’s no way he’ll be able to take Arthur through the castle so he’ll _have_ to leave him alone while he fetches them lunch.  And that’s just the opportunity Arthur needs.

“Still, your Highness, I think it would be best. Will you be alright here, by yourself?”

“Oh, yes. I’ll be fine.” He clasps his hands in front of him and straightens up, trying to present a picture of absolute sincerity.

“Good. I’ll only be a few minutes.” Gaius pauses once, at the egress, and looks back at Arthur.  

Arthur smiles and bounces on his feet.

Gaius shakes his head and tuts, but he leaves on his errand.   Arthur gives him a few minutes to get down the hall and then he rushes into Merlin’s room to collect the heavy, hooded cloak. The clothing he’s wearing will help to disguise him, because it’s unlikely that anyone will expect to see their King wandering around dressed in such a fashion, but the cloak will at an extra layer of anonymity. He ties the coarse strings and pulls the hood up over his head.

He peers around the door, listens for footsteps, and when all seems clear, he hurries down the hall. Sneaking out of this section of the castle is surprisingly easy and except for a few odd looks from one or two of the guards he passes by, no one seems to mark him.

The stables are another matter. The groom is tending the horses, and Arthur knows he won’t just be able to take one. He’s debating whether or not to reveal himself and just demand a horse be saddled when a pair of his councilmen approach on horseback. As they near Arthur knows he won’t be able to duck out of sight, so he settles for admitting who he is and asking for their discretion.

He walks towards the men, who have halted and are dismounting, and raises a hand in greeting.

One of the men, Sir Renald, a retired Knight, looks up at him expectantly. He reaches for Arthur’s outstretched hand… and gives over his reins with a dismissive, “See these animals to the stables, boy.”

 _Pompous ass_ , he nearly snorts. If Arthur didn’t need to stay incognito right now he’d have a completely different answer than the one he gives. “Yes, my Lord.” He bows his head obediently. The other man, Connly, a noble and old compatriot of Uther’s, doesn’t even deign look at him as he slaps his own reins into Arthur’s upheld hand.  He’s almost immediately ignored as the two men continue their conversation and head towards the keep.

Biting his tongue isn’t easy, but Arthur’s just been given the opportunity he needs, so he lets the slight go unremarked.

He leads the first horse inside to the mounting rack just outside the stable and ties it off so that the real groom can deal with it, and then swings into the saddle of the second. Fortunately the horse’s neck and dappled flanks don’t appear at all sweat-damp and he’s not breathing as if he’s been run.   Arthur doubts that Sir Renald and Connly were out for a pleasure ride. Probably just didn’t feel like walking the distance to the lower town, and dealing with the peasants (who tend to give way to nobles on horseback).

Tapping his heels to the grey gelding’s side, Arthur guides him to the postern gate. Merlin had mentioned that he was seeking a Druid encampment near Avalon lake. That’s only a short ride from the Castle. He doesn’t know if Merlin took a horse, though he can’t imagine why he wouldn’t. So if he’s mounted, Merlin has more than an hour’s lead on him with the distance doubled; but… it’s Merlin. He doesn’t imagine it’ll be too difficult to catch him up.

Clear of the Keep and with an open road in front of him, Arthur urges the horse into a ground-eating gallop. He trusts that Merlin took the quickest route, and likely saw no need for stealth. So speed is Arthur’s friend right now. It’s only when he reaches the thickening brush that edges the forest that Arthur finally reins-in and starts looking for signs of Merlin’s passing.  

He dismounts about a quarter of an hour later when he spots some tracks on swath of ground that’s mostly clear of leaf-litter. The trail of hoof prints is fresh and relatively easy to follow. Merlin clearly isn’t expecting anyone to come after him. He tracks them through the forest, getting closer and closer to the lake. Here and there the crescent impressions cross other, older prints, of both man and beast, and eventually the hoof prints are joined by the light indent of booted feet: where Merlin started to lead his horse on foot.

A soft, echoing horse’s whinny catches Arthur’s ear and he knows he’s closing in on Merlin. He ties his horse’s lead to a sturdy log and proceeds slowly through the trees.   The smell of a campfire soon whisks past him on the breeze. The Druid camp is near. Eventually he catches glimpses of color from their tents through the breaks in the trees and foliage and hears the telltale sounds of human habitation. Merlin’s horse is tied just at the edge of the camp, but Merlin isn’t with it.

Since he’s not sure of his welcome amongst the Druid people at the moment, and he doesn’t want to get caught out by Merlin quite yet, Arthur sneaks up to the camp. Dusk is just starting to fall, which is perfect, and using the brush and trees for cover until he can duck behind a tent, Arthur’s able to get close enough to see what’s going on and listen in on conversation.

He spots Merlin right away. He’s standing on the other side of a campfire (which is good news for Arthur, because if Merlin looks over in his direction the light of the fire will impede his vision) talking to a grey-haired man.  

“… and I’m not sure what to do about that, Iseldir.” Merlin is saying.

The Druid, apparently this Iseldir Merlin was seeking, inclines his head gravely. “This pretender must be stopped, Emrys.   I leave the method of that in your hands.” Merlin starts to protest but Iseldir holds up a staying hand. “You know that violence is not our way. Even should this pretender be exposed, I cannot promise that my people will take the action that is necessary.” He lifts his other hand and spreads them both helplessly. “It is not our way, Emrys.”

Merlin’s expression is harsh and made even more so by the growing gloom and dancing firelight throwing shadows over his face. “So I’m to be your assassin, then?” Something tightens in Arthur’s chest at Merlin’s words.

Iseldir shakes his head sadly. “That is not what we wish to make of you, Emrys.”

What is all this _Emrys_ business, Arthur wonders while Iseldir pauses thoughtfully and Merlin continues to stare at the Druid expectantly.

“What is it that you wish, then?” Merlin asks before Iseldir can go on, his voice rising in what is clearly frustration. Arthur’s been on the receiving end of that tone many a time. “How am I to eliminate this false Ríastrad. As you said, even if I were to expose him as a fake your people may not take action against him.”

“Can you not have him imprisoned? He incites treason, Emrys. That should be enough reason for your King to seek his capture.”

Merlin throws his hands up and makes a truly aggravated noise. “I don’t even know how I’m going to explain all of this to Arthur.   And I won’t risk any of Camelot’s men against this Ríastrad if he’s still got his growing army to support him. They will bring magic against the forces of Camelot and I don’t want to see that happen. You know as well as I do that a battle that includes magic will all but destroy any of the goodwill that Arthur’s declaration of peace has managed to engender between Camelot and the Druid people.” Merlin’s shoulders slump then, and all the fight seems to go out of him. “His feelings are softening on the topic of magic, Iseldir. I know this in my heart. And I won’t see him close himself off to it entirely, or worse, follow Uther’s path and actively seek to eradicate it… not if I can help it.”

Iseldir shakes his head, his expression sorrowful. “Then the pretender must be eliminated, Emrys.”

Arthur frowns while Merlin scrubs his hands over his face. When he pulls them away he looks resolved. “So be it. Just make sure you reach out to the other camps, Iseldir. The word needs to be spread, even amongst those factions of your people who still hold enmity towards Camelot.” The tightness in Arthur’s throat sharpens with the knowledge that Merlin has just consented to murdering someone. Is this who Merlin really is?

“It will be as you say, Emrys. The knowledge that this Ríastrad is false and stealing the legacy of our warrior ancestors, not to mention in league with the sorceress Morgana, will not sit well with any Druid, regardless of their feelings towards your King.” He gestures towards a few people who are standing back from the fire and look to be just… staring off into the distance. “Already they are trying to reach our fellows with a sending. We will continue to spread the message.”

“Thank you, Iseldir.”

Iseldir extends a hand toward the fire. “Will you stay, and join us for a meal. There are many here who would be honored to share a meal with the great Emrys.”

The great Emrys?

Merlin’s mouth quirks at the corners in a quick, there-and-gone, smile. “Thank you, Iseldir, but no. I have one more errand I must complete this night, and then I need to get back to the castle before Arthur misses me.” Almost as an aside to himself, Merlin mutters, “At least this time he won’t think I’m off in the tavern.”

Arthur can’t help but snort, albeit softly.

“Very well, Emrys.” He inclines his head to Merlin, and the other people in the camp do so as well. “Farewell.”

Merlin lifts a hand in a brief wave. “Farewell.”

Arthur ducks away from the tent and hurries back into the woods at a low crouch. He’ll stay out of sight until Merlin gets his horse and then see which direction he’s heading. He has no idea what other ‘errand’ Merlin could have to run, but he’s definitely going to find out.

Merlin starts out on foot, leading his horse in an easterly direction. Arthur watches him go for several minutes, and feels confident he’ll be able to follow after even once the sun has dipped below the horizon. He fetches his own mount and stays far enough back that he can barely make out any sounds or signs of Merlin’s passing. It’s risky, because if he can hear the occasional snap of branches or nicker of a horse, then Merlin will be able to hear the same from him; but Arthur’s much more practiced at passing quietly through the woods.

Eventually the trees start to spread and grow sparse and Arthur catches sight of Merlin’s horse, once again tied to a tree, but Merlin isn’t near. He secures his gelding and then slips through the thinning brush. When he finally spots him, Merlin is stalking towards the middle of a vast, open clearing. He’s staring up at the sky in a peculiar manner. He ducks behind one of the few slightly thicker boles and watches Merlin from behind it.

And then Merlin shouts something… odd, guttural words that Arthur can’t quite make out.   They send a chill through his limbs and down his spine for no reason that he can fathom.   What is Merlin doing? He’s just standing in the clearing, staring up at the sky.

Arthur debates just going out there. Maybe Merlin knows he’s been followed and is just waiting for him?

Then an odd sound catches Arthur’s ear; like a pennant slapping in the wind. It’s familiar, and not in any good way. His gaze instinctively follows Merlin’s and shoots to the sky. Something big is up there, circling, blocking out the stars and casting a shadow that darkens huge swaths of land when it passes in front of the waxing moon.

It’s a damn _dragon_.

It drops to the ground right in front of Merlin, and Arthur tries to choke in breath enough to be able to call out… a warning? Merlin’s name? He doesn’t know…, but he can’t get enough air into a chest that’s gone taut or past a heart that’s thumping like a snared rabbit’s.

The dragon’s head lowers. He can’t watch…

… as it bows to Merlin.

What the hell?

“Greetings, Young Warlock.” The dragon’s voice is a rumble that Arthur imagines he can feel through his boots.

“Hello, Kilgharrah.”

The dragon apparently has a name… that Merlin knows.

Arthur clutches the tree. He’s suddenly feeling light-headed.   Magic was one thing. One very big thing, granted. But this is a _dragon_. The same dragon, if he’s not mistaken, that had once menaced Camelot! What in the hell is Merlin doing talking to a dragon that Arthur had supposedly slain?

“What is it that I can do for you this night?” The dragon asks.

“What is it that I’m so often asking for your advice on?” Merlin replies, sounding wryly amused.

“Ahh, it’s about the young King, then?” Even the Dragon sounds like it’s chuckling.

For some reason that grounds Arthur; snaps him back into himself. Merlin is out there _gossiping_ about him with a dragon.

“In a matter of speaking. There is a man pretending to be a long lost member of a Druid warrior sect. He’s been spreading falsehoods and lies about Arthur and Camelot amongst the more distant Druid clans. He’s said that Arthur’s gone back on his word to treat the Druid people fair and to not persecute them. That he’s following in his father’s ways to eradicate magic. He’s followers are gaining, and they have magic among them.”

“That is alarming news, Young Warlock. The future of Albion can only be achieved if magic is brought back to the world once more.”

“Yes,” Merlin carries on the thought. “And the actions of this false Druid could cause Arthur to second-guess his decision… or possibly even take an active stance against magic once again.”

The dragon grumbles disagreeably. “It troubles me to hear of one so insignificant interfering in yours and Arthur’s destiny.”

Destiny? What the hell is the dragon talking about? Arthur can’t even believe he’s asking himself a question like that.

“Well, perhaps it will make more sense if I tell you that Morgana is behind this. I’ve spoken with the Druids and we believe that she’s responsible for setting this false Druid on his path. We think that she’s trying to incite a war between the Druids and Camelot.”

“The witch.” The dragon spits it like a curse. “Of course this is her doing.” Even from this distance Merlin can see the dragon’s lip curl up to expose some rather large looking teeth. “So what is it you wish of me, Merlin?”

Merlin scratches at his cheek. “Um, I was hoping I might get your help in stopping this pretender. You know what I am to the Druids, Kilgharrah. I am the long prophesied Emrys.” He gives a bit of a disdainful sniff. “If I were to confront this false Druid, with you there to uh… back me up, I was thinking it might be helpful in convincing his followers that his words are false. If I’m not there as the King’s man, and instead as Emrys.”

“Merlin,” the dragon actually sounds chiding. “I am not some wild beast brought to heel and yours to command on a whim.”

“Well, technically, as I’m a dragonlord, you are at my command.” Merlin says it brightly, like he’s teasing the great beast.

Merlin is a dragonlord…

Like Balinor.  

So many questions are filling up Arthur’s mind. He’s not going to remember them all. He’s utterly puzzled by this though. If Merlin is really a Dragonlord, why in the world did they need to find Balinor? Why didn’t Merlin just command the dragon right from the beginning?

Of course, Arthur remembers very little of the battle against the dragon. He remembers thrusting a spear at its’ chest, and then… nothing. When he’d woken, Merlin had assured him that he’d dealt the creature a mortal blow (another lie, obviously). Does that mean that Merlin commanded the dragon to leave Camelot? But why did he wait so long to do it?

He’s missed some of the conversation, he realizes, and he tries to focus on Merlin and the dragon once more.

“I’ll summon you in a few days then,” Merlin is saying. “And we can track down this camp and deal with the false Druid.”

The dragon inclines his head. “Very well, Merlin. I shall wait on your call.” With a loud ‘whoosh’ the dragon’s wings extend.

Before he can flap them and launch into the air Merlin calls out, “Wait!”

“What is it, Young Warlock? Is this night’s business not at an end?” The dragon lowers his wings but doesn’t tuck them back into his sides. They fan out in a huge span.

“Just one more thing. I’ve uh… used a spell on Arthur.” He admits it sheepishly.

“ _Mer_ lin.” The dragon sounds oddly familiar when he says Merlin’s name like that. He sighs, heavily enough that the gust of it blows through Merlin’s hair, ruffling it. “What did you do?”

“Just a spell to control his will for a brief time. I had to, Kilgharrah. He was going to confront the Druid pretender in his camp and some of the Druids had magic and… I had to get him out of there.” He sounds very much like he’s trying to convince himself of the rightness of his actions, as much as the dragon.

“So what is the trouble, Merlin?”

Merlin’s hand goes up again, to push through his hair. “I thought it would have worn off by now. And I tried to reverse it and it didn’t work. I just want to make sure that Arthur is going to be okay.”

The dragon lifts his head then and turns it very deliberately in Arthur’s direction. He ducks back behind the meager cover of the tree.

“Perhaps you’d best ask him yourself, young Warlock.”

“What? What does that mean?”

The dragon has the audacity to laugh. Arthur takes a step away from the tree, back into the wood, just as the dragon says, “He’s been hiding in those trees this whole time, Merlin. Didn’t you know?”

On that parting shot, Arthur hears wing beats and he knows that the dragon is flying away, a deep rumbling chortle echoing behind him.

“Arthur?”

Damn, he’s been caught out.   But what to do?  Should he try and run? Or let himself be found… and if so, which Arthur should he be?

“Arthur?” Merlin calls again, and from the rising volume of rustling grass, he’s nearly to the tree line.

Clearly running is not an option. He’s wasted far too much time on indecision. Deciding then, to take a chance, Arthur steps out from behind the tree just as Merlin pushes through the brush.

“Hi, Merlin.”

Merlin skids to a halt and stares at him, wide-eyed and panicking. “Arthur, what… how… What are you doing here?”

Arthur drops his chin and takes a gamble. “I’m sorry, Merlin. There was a dragon out there and I was afraid to follow you.”

“Oh, thank god.” Merlin mutters. He reaches Arthur and catches him up by the shoulders. “But what are you doing out here, in the woods. Why aren’t you with Gaius? I told you to stay put.”

“There was a dragon, Merlin.”

The hands squeeze tighter a moment. “I know. But it’s alright. I just… how are you here?”

Keeping his head down, Arthur manages a shrug that’s limited by Merlin’s hold on him. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I got bored waiting for Gaius. So I thought I’d come and find you. You said you were going to the lake, so I followed you.”

“You followed me?” Merlin echoes wearily.

“Yeah.” Arthur says, finally looking up to meet Merlin’s eyes.

Merlin’s gaze is intense, and anxious in a way that even the darkness can’t hide. Arthur knows he should look away, but he can’t.   It’s in his mind that this should feel like he’s looking at Merlin for the first time. That Merlin should look… different somehow. He’s facing him as so much more than his servant and his friend. There are complexities to Merlin that he never dreamed of…   but the eyes staring back at him, gone storm cloud dark in the twilight, are nothing but familiar.

Merlin is the first to break their gaze. He jerks his head to the side and clears his throat. “That was dangerous, Arthur.   You could’ve gotten lost or hurt… and I’d never have known.”

There’s an echoing chastisement waiting on his tongue, but Arthur doesn’t give it voice. “I’m very sorry, Merlin. I should’ve listened to you.”

The arms that are still gripped tight on Arthur’s shoulders slide slowly up and down his biceps. Arthur’s not sure who the gesture is meant to comfort. It certainly seems as if he’s not the only one drawing solace from it. Merlin looks back at him again, but seems to be carefully avoiding prolonged eye contact. “Well, I’m just glad you’re okay. We should head back to Camelot.” He looks around. “Do you have a horse?”

Arthur nods. “Yeah. He’s over there.”

“Alright good. Let’s get going then.”

It only takes them a few minutes to get their horses and get moving. Merlin insists on holding the reins to Arthur’s horse’s bridle so that he won’t have the opportunity to wander off.   Arthur waits until they’ve cleared the trees again before he decides it’s safe to ask, “Will you tell me about the dragon?”

Merlin looks back over his shoulder. He seems to think on it a moment and then gives a whole-body sigh. “C’mon, ride next to me so I don’t have to shout at you.” Once Arthur’s mount is abreast of his and he’s cajoled a promise from Arthur not to stray, he gives Arthur his reins back.

And then Merlin starts talking. At first it’s in fits and starts; random facts given reluctantly. But the more he says, the more he seems to warm on the topic. “The dragon’s name is Kilgharrah. He was imprisoned beneath the castle in a vast cavern for many years. Since the time of the great purge. I met him when I first came to Camelot. He could sense that I was there and he called to me. There were many times that I went to him for advice. He also told me lots of stuff about you and me.”

Really? That’s interesting. “What kind of stuff?”

“Well, when I first met him, he explained that you and I are like two sides of the same coin. That our destiny is forever linked because you are the Once and Future King who will unite the land of Albion, and it is my duty to see that happen.”

“Huh.” Arthur says dumbly. He’s not really sure what the appropriate response is to being told you have some great destiny.

Merlin lets out a snort. “Yes, well, that was my reaction at first. I mean, you hated me and I wasn’t too fond of you after getting thrown in the dungeon. But Kilgharrah was the one who told me that a half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole. And he also helped me many times to save your life and to save all of Camelot”

This is already too much to take in. Just too much. His and Merlin’s destinies have been linked from the beginning according to a dragon?

And yet Arthur needs to know more. He needs to know everything that Merlin’s been keeping from him. He needs to understand _why_ Merlin’s kept so much from him… why he’s never been able to tell Arthur the truth.

“How is it that’s he’s free? The dragon.” Arthur asks, hoping his questions sound like no more than natural curiosity.

“Ahh,” Merlin exhales sharply. “That is my doing.” He says the latter with a bit of reluctance.

It is so hard not to react to that, to keep calm in the face of it. All that Arthur can think on is the devastation the dragon caused… So many young Knights and innocent townsfolk dead; fallen to its’ claws or searing breath…

Merlin is oblivious to his turmoil and goes on. “You see, Kilgharrah helped me defeat an evil warlock, Sigan, who was trying to come back from death to take over Camelot. But his help came with a price, and he made me promise to set him free. Eventually, when I needed his help once again to save you and to save Camelot from Morgause and the Knights of Medhir, he refused to help unless I swore to keep my word immediately after. So after that I did set him free.”

“Oh,” is all Arthur can manage.

“I didn’t know what he’d do. If I had, I’d never have freed him.” The regret in Merlin’s voice shouldn’t make him feel better… but it does.

“You’re a Dragonlord?” Arthur asks next, though it’s difficult to ask the question without his voice wavering. Already the details Merlin has shared are almost too much…

“So you heard that too, did you?” Merlin chuffs out a short, humorless laugh. “Well, I might as well tell you all of it. The way that Kilgharrah originally got caught was because a Dragonlord summoned him. As you know, Dragonlords are men who can control dragons. They can speak in the dragon’s tongue and call them and even command them to do their bidding.”

He goes silent for a very long time and Arthur finally looks over. He’s staring up, his face in moonlight-limned profile and there’s a glint of silver refracting off of something on Merlin’s cheek.   When Merlin speaks again his voice is hoarse and tight. “My father was… a Dragonlord. When my father died, his power transferred to me. So I was able to send Kilgharrah away from Camelot.”

Oh god, Balinor. Balinor was Merlin’s _father_ …

That answers his earlier questions about why Merlin didn’t stop the dragon sooner. He wasn’t able to.  

“I’m sorry, Merlin.” He says quietly.

“It’s alright, Arthur, but thank you.” He wipes the back of his hand over his cheeks quickly, and takes a deep steadying breath. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

Arthur takes a moment to consider it. He doesn’t know quite how to ask about the magic without seeming… like he’s not an idiot.

“So,” he beings slowly, like he’s thinking hard on it, puzzling it out, “you can talk to dragons. Does that mean you have magic?”

For some reason this makes Merlin laugh. It’s a high, peeling sound that goes on for some time. When he finally gains control of himself Merlin manages to answer, “Oh, Arthur. Now _that_ is a question. And the answer is yes, I do have magic.”

“I didn’t know.” Arthur says, trying not to sound too hurt or too put out or too... anything.

Merlin sobers and looks over at Arthur. “I know. I couldn’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Arthur asks petulantly.

Merlin’s hands go flailing in opposite directions. “Because… because…” he sputters. “Arthur, there are so many reasons.   You remember how your father felt about magic, don’t you?”

Arthur nods. “Yeah. He hated it.”

“Right,” Merlin agrees. “And he did very terrible things to anyone he even suspected of using magic or consorting with sorcerers. So, if I wanted to stay in Camelot I had to keep it a secret.” He casts a quick, sideward glance at Arthur. The look on his face before he turns away again is something Arthur might call shy. “And I did want to stay.” Merlin adds.

“Will you tell me about it?” And Arthur’s not sure what he means by the question. If it’s about Merlin and his magic, or the reasons he’s stayed in Camelot… or even why he sometimes looks at Arthur like he just did.

Merlin interprets it as the former, and clearly the answer to that question is, “Yes, and in great detail.”

Because Merlin becomes garrulous as they ride - well, more so than usual - and this isn’t his regular prattle. He doesn’t hurry them along, never pushes his mount past a slow, rocking jog and continues to answer all of Arthur’s questions. He tells Arthur of the very first time he’d used magic in Camelot. And then the very first time he’d ever used magic on Arthur’s behalf.  

Arthur almost can’t believe some of what he’s hearing. The Afanc, the Questing Beast, the Griffon and so many more odd beasts that Arthur’s been convinced that he was responsible for dispatching. It’s a bit humbling to learn the truth of those encounters. And he breathes a sigh of relief to learn just how narrowly he missed having been married off to various women he had no interest in.

So many of the things Merlin describes… there’s been so much magic around Arthur that he’s never been aware of. In retrospect, there are far, far too many incidents and occurrences that make so much sense (he never really thought he hit his head that many times...). But to have been so utterly blind to it, so oblivious? Perhaps Arthur is more of the foolish simpleton than he thought.

Some of Merlin’s admissions hit harder than others. And Arthur doesn’t miss the way that Merlin kind of glosses over just how many times he’s been responsible for saving Arthur’s life, or that he’s killed on Arthur’s behalf.

The truth about how Uther died is one that Arthur almost can’t ignore. He’d wanted to kill the old sorcerer and he’d blamed the magic for taking Uther from him. And yet, even though it was the old man’s… no, _Merlin’s_ magic that accelerated Uther’s death, it was because of Morgana and Agravaine’s treachery that the magic failed.

It’s difficult to accept the thought that if he’d seen through Agravaine’s falsehoods sooner, Merlin would’ve been able to save his father’s life.

And the knowledge that the Lancelot that returned to Camelot was nothing more than a shade, summoned by Morgana, is an especially bitter pill to swallow. How different would his life be right now if Merlin had been able to come forward with the truth? He’s moved on, he knows that, but he will always have a place in his heart for Guinevere.

In a way, it’s almost… easier to hear these things when he’s stuck in this situation and _can’t_ react. He literally has to bite down on his own tongue on occasion to keep from blurting some of the words that come to his tongue. It helps as well that full night has fallen and his uncontrolled winces and scowls and gaping are hidden in the darkness. But it allows Merlin to keep talking and talking, and Arthur is forced (by his own resolve) to just listen.

And… that’s almost freeing.  

The more Merlin talks the more it becomes clear to Arthur that this is something of a catharsis for Merlin as well.

He’s able to confess to everything that he’s always wanted to share with Arthur without fear of consequence or reprisal. As far as he knows, Arthur’s still under the spell and will remember nothing of this once it wears off.

Arthur suddenly feels a hot flush of guilt chase up the back of his neck. When he’d started this… pretending… he’d been angry. Furious. And he wanted nothing more than to catch Merlin in the act of using magic, or admitting to having magic so that he could call him out on it. He’d never had an end game in mind (except that he knew it likely wouldn’t be the one Merlin expected) and other than giving Merlin a taste of his own medicine, he’s been just seeing where each new revelation took them.

It’s not that he’s not still angry, because that rage is still bubbling below the surface. But he’s no longer afraid of Merlin. Or… well, not that he was _afraid_ of _Merlin_ himself, but of what his having magic means and what he might be able to do with it. Listening to him prattle on for the last hours, it’s quite clear that Merlin’s intentions have never been bad. A bit misplaced, perhaps, but always right-hearted and with the good of Camelot (or Arthur specifically) in mind.

No, it’s the lies that still eat at him. The years of deceit.   So, despite the shame that burns his cheeks he’s got no intention of revealing himself to Merlin just yet. He needs to know the truth of everything that Merlin is willing to share.   It is that need that stays his tongue every time Merlin admits to something just a little more shocking or just a little more devastating… and it is that need that keeps Arthur pushing him for more and more.

Merlin only stops his reminiscing, his voice having gone a bit hoarse, when they near the gates to the city. He knees his mount a little closer to Arthurs and reaches across the space between them to put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder a moment and give a squeeze. “You’re a very good listener, Arthur.” He chuckles. “It’s nice to not have been told to shut up.” In the pale moonlight Arthur can just barely make out when Merlin’s smile falls away leaving his expression intense. “Seriously though, um… thank you.”

“Thank you for telling me, Merlin.” Arthur replies, and he means it sincerely.

~~~~~~~~~~

They make it back to Camelot just after the nine o’clock bells.

Merlin stops them on the road once they’re through the keep gates and they dismount near the fork that leads to the stables. Just ahead a troop of Knights are marching into the citadel and Merlin leads Arthur a few steps off the main cobblestones near the lee of a building and then turns him away from the castle. “Just wait here a moment, Arthur.”

“Right.”

Merlin fixes him with a firm, commanding expression, mouth a thin line. “I mean it, Arthur. Stay in this very spot.”

Arthur bobbles his head. “I will, Merlin. I won’t move.” Since he has no desire to be spotted by his Knights, Arthur’s not planning on moving.

“Okay,” Merlin flashes a quick grin. “That’s good. Very good. I’ll be right back.” He leaves Arthur standing there and a few seconds later Arthur can hear the clopping of hooves on stone as Merlin passes behind, leading their horses to the stables.

While he waits, Arthur looks through the open arches that lead to the lower town and watches the people; _his_ people. Though it’s later evening, there’s still quite a bit of hustle and bustle amongst the denizens of Camelot. A few people pass him, but no one approaches or asks why he’s just standing there, staring.

It’s strange to be this anonymous in his own city. To go unremarked and unacknowledged and looked past like he’s just another peasant... It’s not a feeling he’s familiar with.  Maybe it’s something he could grow to appreciate, but right now it just makes him feel lonely.

“Arthur?”

And just like that, Merlin’s familiar voice sets that sense of isolation and loneliness at bay. How can he ever be alone if he’s got Merlin?

When he doesn’t respond immediately after Merlin calls his name it’s followed up with a quick whistle. Arthur would object to being signaled like one of his hounds, but he finds he doesn’t mind so much. He turns to see Merlin waiting for him to follow expectantly.

“Come on.” He makes a ‘come along’ gesture with one hand, “Let’s get back inside. I’m sure Gaius is worried about you.”

And he most definitely is. When they enter the chamber, Gaius rounds on them immediately. Leon is there as well, just behind him, looking equally harried.

“There you are, Arthur!” He wags an accusatory finger in Arthur’s direction. “I’m quite upset with you, your Highness. You left even after I’d asked you to stay put. And that was after Merlin made sure to explain that you were to stay here, under my supervision.”

Arthur’s mouth drops open, but he’s at a loss for what to say. It’s been ages since he’s been chastised like a naughty little boy. “I’m sorry, Gaius—“ he starts, but is interrupted by Merlin.

“It’s my fault, Gaius.” Merlin steps forward, putting himself physically between Arthur and Gaius. “I shouldn’t have left him.” His gaze switches to Leon for a moment. “I uh, with the spell… I think he’s just more comfortable with me. I’m sorry to have worried everyone.”

Leon is still frowning (and how he must’ve loved getting the news from Gaius that the King had gone missing while under the effects of some nefarious magic) but mostly just seems relieved to see Arthur hale and hearty. “Well, I’m just glad you’re both back and we don’t have to empty the garrison to look for you.” He approaches Arthur somewhat hesitantly. “Do you need anything, Sire?”

Arthur shakes his head, mouth pressed in flat line. “No, but thank you, Leon.” He pats Leon on the arm and has to hold back a laugh when Leon stares down at the touch with a look of utter confusion.

“It’s ah… no trouble, Arthur.” Leon steps aside and starts to sidle around them. Apparently his escape from this situation can’t come quickly enough. “I’ll just be going then.”

“Thank you, Sir Leon.” Gaius calls out before he can slip out the door. “Your discretion in this matter is most appreciated.”

Leon coughs as he looks back into the room and sort of cringes a bit when he looks at Arthur. “It’s no problem, Gaius. Goodnight to you all.”

“Goodnight, Leon.” Arthur chirps brightly, just to watch Leon squirm.

He lifts the hand that Arthur touched and sort of waggles it and then all but flees the room. Poor Leon. Arthur’s going to remember this the next time they’re on the training fields and Leon gets in a lucky move…

Merlin hurries to close the door and then leads Arthur over to the table, saying, “I’m really sorry, Gaius. I had no idea he’d sneak off on you. I mean, when this happened last time he sort of wouldn’t stay put for long, but I thought that as long as he was supervised…” He trails off and then cocks his head at Gaius. “How did he manage to slip away unnoticed, anyhow?”

Arthur will give Gaius credit; he absolutely does not look one iota culpable. “I left him alone for a few minutes to get us some lunch.” He shifts a heavy glare to Arthur. “He promised me he’d stay put.”

Yes, well… Arthur doesn’t feel the least bit guilty about that. Gaius deserves a bit of an upset after colluding with a sorcerer for all this time. And the mention of lunch makes his stomach growl.

Merlin hears it. He frowns sympathetically at Arthur. “Hungry, are we?”

Arthur nods rather pathetically. “Yes, Merlin.”

“Why don’t I fetch us all dinner, then?” Merlin suggests. It’s clearly a peace offering all around.

“That would be very nice, my boy.” Gaius approves.

Merlin’s smile goes slightly impish. “Try not to let him out of your sight this time, Gaius.”

Gaius just sniffs haughtily and then makes shooing motions. After Merlin’s left Gaius keeps his eyes fixed on Arthur. Apparently he’s going to take Merlin’s request quite literally. A few long seconds of that narrow-eyed scrutiny leaves Arthur squirming.

“I’m sorry I got you into trouble, Gaius.”

Gaius manages to hold that stern mien only so long in the face of Arthur’s contrition. He finally sags and just shakes his head. “Oh, it’s alright, Arthur. You’re forgiven. I’m just very glad you were able to find, Merlin. I shudder to think what could have happened to you if you hadn’t.”

He relaxes, at least a little bit, after that. Not enough that he still doesn’t keep a close watch on Arthur, but enough that he’ll at least turn his back to Arthur now and again. To pass the time he starts Arthur working on more herbs, this time pulling tiny leaves off of some kind of long, spindly twigs and collecting them in a small jar. They’re oddly fragrant and remind him of something the cook uses on capon and pheasant.

When Merlin returns he’s got food for three and then some.   Which, considering Arthur’s appetite, is a good thing.   While they eat Merlin fills Gaius in on his meeting with the Druids and his follow-up visit with the dragon.

Gaius gets all blustery and alarmed when Merlin tells him how much Arthur witnessed.

Merlin hurries to allay Gaius’ concerns. “He won’t remember any of it, Gaius.” This time though, Merlin’s reassurance holds a note of sorrow.

Arthur can’t help but wonder if Merlin actually _wants_ him to remember everything. It would certainly save Merlin the trouble of trying to admit any of this. He supposes that if he’d been carrying the weight of such heavy secrets and lies for so very long, he’d long for the time when he could free himself of those burdens.   Merlin admitted to them on their ride back to Camelot that he abhors the need to lie to Arthur. That he wants nothing more than to tell him the truth. It’s just that he truly feels that he can’t. And that’s what frustrates Arthur to no end.

After they finish their meal it’s already getting quite late. Gaius can only suggest a few chores that could stand finishing before bed.

Arthur must make some kind of noise of frustration because Merlin shoots him a knowing wink. “Be careful, Arthur,” he whispers conspiratorially, “if he finds you complaining too much, Gaius will set you to cleaning the leech tank.”

Merlin laughs, bright and buoyant, at the way Arthur’s lip curls up in disgust.

He almost slips then. He’s opening his mouth, a cutting (but affectionate) remark ready on his tongue. And then he remembers himself, and that this isn’t the two of them whiling away the evening in Arthur’s quarters, feeling open and free and relaxed like he does at no other time.

His ebullient mood deflates immediately and thoughts turn dark once again, no matter how much he tries to force them in a different direction. He stays quiet long enough that his silence is taken for assent when Gaius asks him to bottle some dried valerian root. Thankfully it’s another of those mindless tasks he can complete without thinking too deeply. He finishes transferring the small granules from a large pouch into several small jars and then tells Merlin that he’s tired.

“I think I’d like to go to sleep.” He gives a brief, rather weak smile. “I’ve had a long day.”

Merlin’s smile is similarly small, but much more genuine. “I think we all have. C’mon, you can take my bed again.”

Merlin carries the stack of clothing he’d fetched from Arthur’s room when he brought back their dinner and sets in on the bed. He looks back at Arthur and though there’s plenty of light filtering in from through the door from behind, silhouetted against it, Merlin’s expression is hard to read. “Do you need anything else?” He asks, and Arthur feels like he’s missing something in what Merlin’s really asking.

But he’s tired and his head hurts and his heart aches in his chest, so he just says, “No, thank you.” Then he reaches out to catch at Merlin’s arm before he can step out. “Oh, wait.”

Merlin takes a step closer. “What is it, Arthur?”

“I uhm…” This is ridiculous. There’s nothing he can say to Merlin now that won’t give the game away. He lets his hand fall away from Merlin’s forearm and cants his head to the side, nodding at a thick beeswax candle sitting on the low shelf near the door. “The candle. It’s not lit.”

“Oh,” Merlin says and Arthur knows that’s disappointment he’s trying so very hard to hide. “Of course.” He doesn’t move, but his expression changes just briefly and even in the dimness Arthur sees Merlin’s eyes flash like molten gold. Light flares around the candle as the wick is suddenly dancing in bright flit of flame.

He gasps.

A there-and-gone smile flits across Merlin’s lips, he whispers, “Goodnight, Arthur,” and then closes the door to the room behind him.

And that’s it… he’s just _seen_ it. Merlin, using magic. For all his earlier words, it’s suddenly real to Arthur in a way it wasn’t before.

He could stop all of this right now; end the charade.   But he knows he won’t. There’s still something nagging at him, clawing at his stomach and leaving him feeling tense and unsettled. He just can’t pinpoint what it is.

After what he’s just witnessed, it’s a relief to have privacy and he sags against the door and just breathes. It’s a difficult enough ruse to keep up – everything he needs to do or say goes completely against his nature – but adding Merlin and Gaius’ intense scrutiny on top of it, Arthur is just worn out.

Through the thin wooden door he can hear Gaius and Merlin talking, but unlike last night he has no desire to eavesdrop.   While he’s fairly sure there are no more painful revelations yet to be made… he doesn’t want to hear anything else upsetting. He pushes away from the door and readies for bed; stripping off the uncomfortable and rough homespun, giving himself a cursory wipe down from Merlin’s wash basin and then pulling on a loose night shirt and trousers that actually fit.

He settles into Merlin’s bed. It smells of him, which is oddly comforting. Especially that hint of something sharp and wild he sometimes catches on the air when Merlin’s around. It’s the magic; he knows that now.  

His thoughts drift. He tries to focus on what he’s going to do tomorrow, because he can’t let this go on any longer. Besides the challenging of maintaining the deception, he’s also got a kingdom to run and he can’t just avoid those responsibilities forever. But he doesn’t want to get caught up in thinking too deeply about any of it. All that will do is get his mind churning again, and he just wants some peace.

Sleep eludes him and he’s still stuck in that fitful place where exhaustion and sleeplessness are warring with each other when Merlin comes back into the room sometime later. He lies there, curled on his side, face pressed into Merlin’s pillow, listening to the noises Merlin makes as he readies himself for sleep.  

Eventually Merlin settles down onto his make-shift bed on the floor.  

“Arthur?” He hears Merlin whisper into the dark.

Arthur doesn’t answer. He keeps his breathing slow, and even.

He doesn’t want to know what else Merlin wants to reveal; he knows he’s not ready to hear it.

For a few, blessed seconds of silence, he thinks that Merlin’s changed his mind since he must believe Arthur to be asleep. But then Merlin sighs, and there’s the sound of rustling blankets, like he’s rolling over, and his voice comes again. “Arthur, I want to say this now… because I know I will never have another chance.”

A voice screams in Arthur’s head to stop this, to shout, “No! Don’t tell anything more!”, but it’s drowned out as Merlin continues to speak.

“And I… I know I will never begin to be able to apologize for all the things I’ve kept hidden from you. I also know how much of yourself you’ve shared with me, and I’m so grateful for that. I need you to know that if I could, I would tell you _everything_ again, tomorrow or whenever you’re yourself again…” Merlin’s words are raspy and his tone wavering with so much emotion that it’s difficult to hear what he’s saying. Still, he goes on. “But, I have to keep you safe, and for that reason my secret is one that you must never know. I can never put you in the position to have to make a choice about me that could see you hurt.”

Silence falls again, and Arthur has to ignore the tickle of moisture trickling down over the bridge of his nose and soaking into the pillow beneath his cheek.

 _Please_ , he thinks with such fervency, _please don’t say anything else, Merlin_. Because Merlin’s words sounded unfinished, and Arthur knows he won’t be able to take what it is that Merlin’s got left to say.

“I think you know,” Merlin’s harsh whisper breaks into the silence once again. “I mean, how I… feel. About you.” There’s a noisy swallow. “It is my destiny to stay with you Arthur, to protect you, to see you become the greatest King Albion has ever known. I have no doubt that we will make that happen.” Another pause and an almost inaudible sniffle. “But even if that didn’t tie me here, to you… I’d stay. I’d never leave your side. And maybe that’s the other reason I haven’t told you of my magic, because I’m so afraid you would send me away and I cannot bear to lose you.”

Silence falls again, still and heavy, and then Merlin murmurs something else, something that’s just too soft, too private, for Arthur to hear. Something so… terrifying or risky or honest that Merlin won’t even speak it in the dark.

Arthur doesn’t think he needs to hear it anyway. And yet those imagined words tumble around his suddenly empty mind until the exhaustion wins its battle against wakefulness and he finally succumbs to the pull of sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Though his sleep was fitful, he’d tossed and turned in Merlin’s small bed and woken numerous times during the night, Arthur still wakes when the morning light streams in through the cracks in the slatted wood shutters. He lays there a while, listening to Merlin’s soft breathing coming up from the floor.   He knows he won’t be able to get anymore sleep though, so he sits up and throws his legs over the side of the bed.

Same as yesterday, Merlin is deeply slumbering on his pile of blankets and clothes. Arthur debates letting him sleep (seems only right that one of them should get a good night’s rest) but he can’t just sit there and wait for Merlin to wake up. He’s also definitely not in the mood to go into the main chamber and get stuck doing busy work with Gaius.

So he pushes at Merlin’s bent knee with a toe.

Merlin blinks up at him blearily for a few minutes, but Arthur can tell the moment he remembers the situation they’re in. He rolls up to his side and looks up at Arthur with naked curiosity. “Good morning, Arthur.”

Arthur’s still deciding on how he’s going to answer that.

There’s one thought that’s plagued him this whole time, and he still hasn’t been able to parse. If Merlin was willing to use this spell on him, twice, what else might he be willing to do? How far would he go? It’s not that Arthur thinks he can’t trust him, but…

There’s no way he’s ready to untangle the knot of confusion still twining around his mind. He needs more time.

“Morning, Merlin,” he finally replies, as chipper and vapid as he can manage. He’s probably overdoing it; channeling a few Princesses and ladies of the court he’s met that have left him wanting to claw his own eyes out from boredom.

He watches as the optimism falls away from Merlin’s face; replaced by a firm mask of acceptance. “Did you sleep well?”

Arthur has to give him credit. He’s being very careful to not take any of his frustration out on Arthur.

“Yes,” Arthur nods. “Very well. Thank you, Merlin. Your bed is quite comfortable.”

That makes Merlin roll his eyes and scoff. “Well, we’ll have to get you back into your own bed so you can compare the two. I suspect yours will win out in the area of overall comfort.”

“I’d like that.” Arthur replies, since he certainly wouldn’t mind sleeping in his own bed again. And because sleeping in his own bed would mean that this whole ugly mess was behind them.

“Arthur, can you wait here just a few minutes, please?” Merlin asks once he’s on his feet and has crossed the room. He pours the basin of dirty water that Arthur used the night before into a bucket and then rinses it with what remains in the jug. “I’m going to just get some fresh water from the buckets in the other room. I’ll be right back.”

“Yes, of course.”

Merlin leaves with the sloshing bucket and the empty jug.

While Merlin’s gone Arthur changes out of his nightshirt and into a regular tunic. He’s just looking for his belt when Merlin comes back in. “I’m just going to get cleaned up,” Merlin explains. “And then we can get breakfast.” He pours the fresh jug into the basin and then retrieves a cake of soap and a scrap of cloth.

Arthur nods distractedly. He could’ve sworn Merlin brought him a belt. He starts tossing around the bedclothes looking for it.

“Arthur?”

He looks up to see that Merlin is staring at him in amusement. He also can’t help but notice that Merlin is shirtless. His tunic and scarf are lying in a messy pile on the floor next to his feet and he’s got a lathered cloth pressed against his neck.

“What are you doing?”

Arthur pulls a face at Merlin’s raised eyebrow. “I can’t find my belt.”

“Oh, it’s over here, I’ll get it for you.” He drops the cloth back into the wash basin and then retrieves the belt. “Here,” he offers, “let me get that. You always complain that the buckle on this one is faulty.”

“I do?” It’s a genuine question. He sometimes doesn’t pay any attention to the things he says to Merlin when he’s baiting him. Telling him that his belt has a faulty buckle _does_ sound like something he’d say just to hear Merlin’s aggravated sigh and see him fight so very hard not to roll his eyes at his King (he almost always gives in when Arthur ramps up his frivolous complaints and demands).

“Yes, you do.” Merlin chuckles. “Though sometimes I think it’s you who’s faulty for not being able to get yourself dressed.”

Arthur would protest, but he’s realized his mistake in accepting Merlin’s help as soon as Merlin approaches him. It’s not often that he’s around Merlin when he’s anything less than layered in his jacket and tunic and scarf. The reverse situation is almost a daily occurrence, Arthur strips down in front of Merlin all the time, and he’s never felt odd to have Merlin help him with dressing, or undressing or getting ready for a bath. But this is just… different.

Merlin has to get very close to loop the strap around his waist and when he bends to get the end looped through the buckle, Arthur is given a view down the long line of Merlin’s back. He’d expected Merlin to be less… well-formed; skinny and all knobby-elbows and jutting shoulder-blades. And that’s not the case at all. He’s slender, yes, but appears to have grown into his coltish limbs. There’s smooth, wiry muscle defining his arms and torso, and shoulders. It’s distracting.

When Merlin straightens, he’s grinning and saying, “There, that’s got …” He trails of when he realizes just how close he and Arthur are.

It’s Arthur’s fault, he was leaning forward, staring, transfixed, at the wings of Merlin’s shoulder blades and the bumps of his spine and the way his ribs taper slightly into his hips before disappearing beneath his trousers.

Now they’re face to face, noses only a hand span from touching. From this distance he can see Merlin’s pupils go wide, until the blue that circles them is little more than a thin, silvery ring. He hears Merlin’s breath catch in his throat. The way that Merlin leans just a hair closer might’ve otherwise gone unnoticed if he hadn’t been watching him _so_ carefully.

Arthur’s mouth goes dry. He licks at his lips and tries to swallow. Merlin’s gaze drops for a moment, following the motion, and Arthur can see the flutter of his pulse along the taut line of Merlin’s throat.

 _Oh_.

Merlin breaks away first, dragging his eyes away from Arthur’s and stepping backward across the room. He turns abruptly when his back bumps against the table with the waiting basin. He takes up the cloth and starts scrubbing energetically. “I’ll be just a few more minutes, Arthur.” He blurts out, talking quickly and overly eager. “Then we can have more porridge for breakfast. How does that sound?”

“Uh good, yeah.” Arthur says absently.

When Merlin had spoken those careful words in the dark the night before, Arthur thought he understood what it was that Merlin was trying to confess. But…. It’s so much more than he realized.

Yet for some inexplicable reason, the idea that Merlin desires him makes him angry. Which is ridiculous, because it’s not as if Arthur has never entertained thoughts about Merlin. True, he keeps those feelings under strictest control (except, apparently, when faced with the sight of Merlin’s bared torso) and he’d never really imagined that Merlin might… _want_ him in return.

Still, even though he can’t rationalize it, he cannot shake this odd rage that’s coiling in his belly. It’s not until Merlin makes another overly-casual comment about the porridge that Arthur starts to understand. It’s the situation.   Merlin thinks he’s a simple-minded idiot…   And, as far as he knows, he _controls_ Arthur’s _will_.

Arthur hates himself for second-guessing, but he can’t help but wonder if it’s that sense of control that Merlin is really attracted to. Because Merlin _doesn’t_ desire him. Arthur would _know_ it if he did. Merlin’s good at hiding things, true, but _that_? He’s helped to dress and bathe and care for Arthur in every state imaginable, and he’s never shown any sign that he’s wanted more.

So it has to be the circumstances. Doesn’t it? And that’s what’s got Arthur’s blood thrumming hot beneath the surface of his skin.

He needs to know the truth. And he knows just how to get it.

He steps closer to Merlin, who’s rinsing away the soapy water from his face and neck with quick passes of the sopping wash cloth, and crowds him against the table.

“Arthur!” Merlin protests, trying to gently jostle him away.

“Sorry, Merlin,” Arthur says low and close to Merlin’s ear. “It’s just that you’ve got soap, here.” He touches the sudsy spot just behind Merlin’s left ear, and slowly tracks two fingertips down the column of Merlin’s throat.

From this angle Arthur can just see Merlin’s eyes in profile, but he knows that they’d gone wide at the first tentative touch, but now Merlin’s got them squeezed tight.

Arthur leans closer, pressing his hip against Merlin’s thigh and his chest along Merlin’s bare shoulder. “It’s clean now.”

“Arthur, stop. You can’t do this.” He twists his head to the side so he can look at Arthur and there’s steel in his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Arthur says in his most pathetic and wheedling tone of voice. “Please, don’t be mad.” He stills his fingers, where they’ve reached Merlin’s collar bone, but doesn’t lift his hand away.

Merlin lets out a breathy, nasal sigh. “I’m not mad, Arthur. It’s just… this is inappropriate.”

Arthur lowers his chin but looks up at Merlin and he purses his lips into a pout. “Why?” he asks.

“Because, it is…” Merlin answers, casting about for a better explanation. “Because you’re the King. That’s why. And I’m just your servant and… it’s just not on.”

“I don’t understand.” Arthur practically whines. “I like you and you like me, don’t you?” He lets his fingers slip a little further down past Merlin’s collar.   Although, he’s starting to second-guess his battle plan here.   Merlin’s skin is soft, and smooth under his fingers. He almost can’t help wanting to touch it. His neck and collar are almost never bare of one of Merlin’s ridiculous kerchiefs. It’s a ridiculous temptation.

Merlin makes another frustrated noise. “Yes, Arthur, I _do_ like you. And I think that you,” he swallows hard, Adams apple bobbing, and corrects himself, “and you do like me. We’re friends, Arthur. But nothing more.”

“But why?” Arthur asks again. His fingers slide almost of their own accord, dipping into the hollow of Merlin’s throat.

“Arthur, stop!” Merlin bites out curtly, pushing his hand away and stepping back, putting distance between them. “Look, it’s not that I wouldn’t, normally. I mean…” he waves a hand that seems to take in the whole of Arthur. “Look at you. But you’re not in your right mind.” His eyes roll so hard it almost looks painful. “Clearly, else this would not be happening.”

He steps closer to Arthur again, but this time takes his hands and holds them in his in the space between them. “I think you’re just confused, Arthur. It’s… this spell. You’re responding to the spell that’s all.” He blows out a frustrated breath that unsettles the damp fringe framing his forehead. “Trust me, Arthur, you wouldn’t want this otherwise.”

Just as suddenly as that odd anger came rushing upon him, it’s subsumed in a wave of guilt. This is a horrible thing to have done to Merlin. To his best friend. Even with everything that’s still to come to light about the magic and the years and years of secrets, _this_ is something Arthur should never have tried to press.

He feels like the worst kind of bastard.

He pulls his hands away from Merlin’s abruptly and covers his face, dragging his palms down from his hairline to his chin.

“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice is high and tight with alarm.

“I’m sorry, Merlin.” It’s all that he can say, the words echoing into the cups of his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Arthur, it’s alright.” Merlin hurries to reassure him. “We’re fine. No harm done.”

And isn’t that just like Merlin. Reassuring _him_ when Arthur’s just tried to force something unwanted upon him.

Despite all the secrets and lies and deception, Arthur suddenly knows exactly how he’s going to handle this whole _insane_ situation. He knows he’s already forgiven Merlin. At least well-enough to give him the chance to explain.   He’s going to have an honest conversation with Merlin. He’s going to tell him what he knows, and listen to Merlin’s explanations and hope like hell that the two of them can work past this.

But not right this minute. He needs to clear his head. He needs to think without the pressure of playing the fool.

 _Right then_ , he thinks as he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees flashes of light behind the lids, there’s no other course he can take. He lets his hands fall away from his face and he looks across the room at Merlin who’s staring at him in concern.

“Merlin,” he speaks clearly and firm. No more loose speech and clumsy expressions. “I’m heading back to my chambers. I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

“Arthur, what are you…”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur snaps, because he doesn’t want to hear any of Merlin’s questions right now.

It actually takes Merlin a moment to figure it out, that he’s himself again, but when he does his jaw falls slack and his eyes go wider than Arthur’s ever seen them.   He looks just a moment from panicking; like he doesn’t know whether he should flee, or fall to the ground to beg for his life.

“Look, I’m…,” but he can’t find the words to explain. “You will not leave Camelot,” Arthur commands instead, “and you will not speak of this to anyone. You will report to my room this evening with dinner. For both of us. Is that clear?”

Merlin swallows so hard it looks painful. “Y..yes…, my Lord.” He bows his head in an uncharacteristic show of obsequience.

For a moment Arthur is tempted to offer some small reassurance, a word or a gesture, but the weight of everything stays him. Arthur sweeps out of the room without another word.

~~~~~~~~~~

Leaving Gaius’ chamber behind in a rush, Arthur stalks through the halls. It shouldn’t feel like he’s running away, but it does. He hates the need to retreat in battle and this is no different. It feels like giving up. Like failure. He nods curtly at any who greets him, but doesn’t stop to speak to anyone.   He reaches his room and slams the door closed behind him, desperate for the solitude it can provide.

Of course, once he’s in there, it’s that very same solitude that starts to get to him. Even before his riotously whirling thoughts can settle, he finds himself focusing on just how damn quiet it is. He’s sat as his table, listening to what _isn’t_ there. It’s the absence of nonsensical prattling or the scuffing of well-worn boots across stone, or the clumsy attempts at straightening his bed covers or gathering laundry that are going to drive him mad. It takes all his willpower to not just thump his head against the scuffed, scarred wood of the tabletop.

Desperately in need of a distraction, and because waiting any longer would just take his irresponsibility to an entirely new level, he sends the first servant he finds in the halls to fetch Leon.

Leon arrives and when he knocks at Arthur’s door it’s with the hesitance that says he’s still not sure what to expect.

Arthur does not take it personally that Leon’s treading so carefully, though thinking back on the past two days, and what Leon must’ve thought… it’s a bit embarrassing.

But Leon is his First Knight for a reason. When Arthur gestures for him to come in and then speaks to him as if nothing’s been amiss, Leon doesn’t question it at all. He’s dutiful and loyal and blessedly silent, for all that he’s clearly quite pleased to have the regular old Arthur back. Although now and again Arthur _does_ catch Leon looking at him from the side of his eyes, like he expects him to go back to being a simpleton at any moment.

Arthur orders food to be brought in and they share a meal and they discuss everything that’s been happening in his ‘absence’. They’ve gotten word from one of the squires sent ahead to meet with Gwaine and Percival and the others that the Druids made a cursory attempt to find Arthur at the market fest, but were quickly scattered by the arrival of more Camelot troops.

Other than that bit of news Leon has kept things running smoothly. Not that Arthur expected anything different.

Once he’s dismissed a very relieved Leon, Arthur tries to focus on reading recent missives from neighboring kingdoms, and to review the latest troop reports and even to go through the inventory tallies from the castle stores. He fails at each task, shoving aside parchments and ledgers in frustration. Nothing can keep his attention for more than a few minutes.

After a lunch that he has brought to him by a servant who seems puzzled that she’s been assigned the task (Merlin, apparently, is quite proprietary where Arthur’s meals are concerned), he decides that the only way he’s going to avoid thinking about everything that’s happened (because there’s no way in hell he’s going to try to sort any of this out without Merlin) is to head down to the practice field.   There’s never a shortage of young Knight trainees and guardsmen who want to test their mettle against the King.

He returns to his room a few hours later sweaty and aching and completely relieved to have gotten even that much of a reprieve from his traitorous thoughts. He orders a bath and then hates that all it does is remind him of Merlin as he undresses and bathes and gets dressed once more. It’s so very strange to tend to these tasks without Merlin present. Even if he really doesn’t _need_ Merlin’s assistance… he’s palpably aware of Merlin’s absence.

By the time the dinner hour has finally arrived, Arthur’s worked his nerves back up into a frenzy. He vacillates between pacing the room and sitting at the table, staring expectantly at the door, while he waits for Merlin’s to show up.   He’s absolutely sure that Merlin will come to him as instructed. Completely certain…

Despite that, the knock at his door still startles him. He takes a deep, steadying breath. “Come.”

There’s a rush of relief that courses through him when Merlin peeks his head through the door. And there’s no ignoring the truth of how afraid he actually was that Merlin wouldn’t come. Merlin spots Arthur and hesitates.

“Come in.” Arthur grounds out.

Merlin hurries to comply, a laden tray proceeding him into the room.

Arthur says nothing while Merlin prepares the meal. He sets out plates – two, just as Arthur instructed – and pours them both wine. When he’s done Arthur simply holds out a hand inviting Merlin to sit.

Merlin does so slowly, as if he’s afraid the chair’s going to bite him. Or maybe it’s Arthur he’s afraid of. That Arthur’s set this up as some elaborate scheme to trick him, or take him into custody.

Arthur says nothing to set his mind at ease. Instead he digs into his meal.   He focuses on eating, trying to look as if he’s enjoying the roasted hen and herbed potatoes and pan-seared mushrooms, but in truth he barely tastes a thing.

Merlin just picks at his plate. He startles at every movement Arthur makes and eventually he just pushes his plate away with a sigh.

Arthur doesn’t blame him. He can’t keep up the pretense of nonchalance. He finishes his wine, spares a moment to wish he’d asked Merlin to bring a lot more of it, and then he too slides the remains of his dinner across the table.

Merlin pushes his chair back in a rush, scraping it against the floor with a loud screech. He practically bolts to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asks, lifting a brow.

“Uhm, just gathering these plates, Sire. I thought I’d clear away…” He trails off at Arthur’s glare.

“The dishes can wait, Merlin.”

Merlin nods but doesn’t sit back down.

Arthur sighs. He’s got the upper hand here, but he has no idea what to say or do. He pushes a hand through his hair and makes an aggravated noise. And Merlin flinches…. Flinches!

“Just spit it out, Merlin.” He finally bites out, because this is driving him mad.

Merlin swallows, and his mouth must be desert-parched because Arthur can hear it clicking. He reaches over for Merlin’s untouched goblet and hands it up to him.

Merlin eyes it like it contains poison.

“Drink it,” Arthur growls. He’s getting tired of Merlin reacting to him like he’s some kind of violent monster.

Dutifully Merlin puts the cup to his lips and tips it up. He continues drinking, gulping noisily until he pulls the empty goblet away with a loud smack of his lips.

“Better?” Arthur asks, and it’s only slightly snarky.

“Uh yeah.” Merlin sets the goblet back on the table and stares at Arthur.

“So, talk then. I can see that there’s a question just waiting to be asked. Go ahead, ask it.”

Merlin swallows again, and then takes a noisy breath in through his nose. The words rush out on the end of the exhale. “How long were you… I mean, when…” he can’t seem to finish the question.

He knows Merlin is wondering how long Arthur’s been ‘back’ to his old self. He imagines that Merlin’s been thinking about it all day, and wondering why Arthur didn’t say anything sooner. Probably wondering just how much Arthur knows. _Good_ , he thinks, a little viciously. Considering he spent the whole of the day with his stomach tying itself in knots, it’s only fair that Merlin experienced the same.   He flashes a rather wry grin. “You mean how long have I known that you used magic on me to control my will?”

Merlin blanches. Which, considering how fair he already is, makes him look positively ghastly. “How can you know that?” He wonders aloud, stepping back in alarm.

The question isn’t necessarily directed at Arthur, but he answers it anyway. “Because I was meant to have forgotten it all, right? When the spell wore off, I was supposed to have no memory of anything that I said or did, or perhaps heard, during that time, correct?”

“Um, yes?”

“Well it’s a good thing the spell wore off when I woke up in your bed _the other night_.” And, despite how innocent those circumstances, the words come out a little high and sharp at the end.

“You mean…” Merlin trails off in horror.

Arthur gives a very deliberate, slow nod. “Yeah. I’ve been me the whole time. Not this simple-minded dollophead that you thought.”

Merlin’s clearly still trying to work out with this means. “So you know…” Again, he lets the sentence go unfinished.

And again, Arthur repeats that treacle-slow nod. “Everything.” He enunciates each syllable and snaps his teeth together on the end of the word.

Merlin actually staggers. Like his knees have just suddenly stopped working properly.  

On instinct, and against his better judgment, Arthur rushes forward to catch him before he topples completely. “C’mon, you idiot. Sit down before you fall down.” He practically hauls Merlin back across the room to the table and pushes him gently into a chair.

Merlin is uncharacteristically quiet through all of this, and when Arthur steps back to look at him, the abject fear in Merlin’s eyes takes him aback.

“Merlin,” he hurries to say, hardly believing that his need to protect Merlin, to keep him safe from harm (even when he himself is the cause of that harm) immediately overrides the anger and betrayal he should rightfully be feeling. Not that he doesn’t still feel those things. “Merlin,” he snaps out when his first effort garners him no response. “Look at me.”

Thin-lipped and wide-eyed, Merlin lifts his chin and looks up at Arthur and there’s a hint of defiance underneath all that fear and sorrow.   Something painful and wonderful lances through Arthur’s heart at the sight of it.

“Before we say anything else, I need you to know that I’m _not_ my father. I’m not going to have you burned or beheaded.” He flashes a quick, somewhat disbelieving grin. “I’m not even going to have you put in the dungeons or thrown in the stocks.”

Oddly, while Merlin looks slightly relieved to hear all that, his shoulders are still high and braced, like he’s tensing for a blow.

The reason comes to Arthur in a flash, the memory of Merlin’s late night confession suddenly coming to the fore in his mind. “And I’m not going to have you banished,” he adds softly. “You’re not leaving Camelot. Hell,” he snorts out in noisy derision, “you’re not even leaving my employ if I have anything to say about.”

Merlin’s shoulders slump and his lips part on a sigh.

“But,” Arthur hurriedly tacks on, lest Merlin thing he’s off the hook entirely, “that doesn’t mean I’m not furious beyond the telling of it. And we’re going to discuss this, in some detail.” He lets the words sound like the threat they are.

And once again, Merlin goes still and then he nods, quick and curt.

Arthur pulls out the chair at the head of the table and practically falls into it “So,” he beings, conversationally. “You’re a sorcerer.” He angles his head to study Merlin a moment. “Have you always been a sorcerer?” That’s one thing Merlin didn’t explain the day prior during their ride back from the Druids and the dragon. He mentioned inheriting his father’s powers as a dragonlord, but did that mean the rest of it as well?

“Yes,” Merlin says simply. “I was born with magic. It’s something I’ve been dealing with,” his gaze drops to the tabletop, “hiding, all my life.”

“And Gaius knows. And he’s been protecting you.”

Merlin nods and then jumps to Gaius’ defense. “He was just trying to keep me safe, Arthur—“

Arthur holds up a hand. “Relax, Merlin. I’m not going to punish Gaius for keeping your secret.”

“But you are going to punish _me_?” Merlin asks querulously.

“Shouldn’t I?” Arthur wonders. “You’ve been breaking the laws of Camelot regarding sorcery since the day you arrived here. You’ve lied to me, deceived me for years.” And now that the floodgates have opened, Arthur can’t help the rushing tide of anger and hurt and betrayal and everything else that comes pouring out. “And even after all this time, everything we’ve been through, you still would’ve kept on lying if I hadn’t found you out!”

“Arthur, I… I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” he asks bitterly. “Not having told me, or having been found out?”

“Both,” Merlin admits. Arthur has to give him credit for the honesty.

“Why?” Arthur has to ask. “Why, after all this time, did you never tell me?”

Merlin slumps back in his chair. “I couldn’t Arthur. I couldn’t risk it. I need to protect you and I’ve never wanted you to have to make that choice. You’re the King and there are laws, and I never wanted to put you into the position to have to choose between your duty and our friendship.”

Arthur lifts his chin, slightly mollified.   Still, even now, Merlin cannot speak the whole truth. “Yet you also said that perhaps the real reason didn’t tell me was because you were afraid I would send you away and that you cannot bear to lose me.”

It takes Merlin a moment to recognize his own words from the night before, but when he does his eyes fly open and he jerks back, looking stung. “You were awake?” He cries, betrayal making itself known in every one of his features. “How could you do that? How could you just lay there… pretending? “

He jams his fists into his hips and lifts an eyebrow pointedly. “Really, Merlin?”

“Well, but…” Merlin sputters, “I mean, I didn’t set out to deliberately deceive you…” He trails off. He hasn’t got a leg to stand on and it’s clear he knows it.

“Oh, so _my_ deception is the thing we should be discussing here? Let’s see.” He cocks his head. “I’ve been deceiving you about my mental state for two days.” He narrows his eyes. “How long have you been lying to me, Merlin?”

Merlin’s chin drops and he seems to find the toes of his boots very interesting. “It’s not the same thing at all, Arthur. I didn’t keep my secrets to hurt you. I did it to protect myself, so I could protect you. And… last night, I told you things… that I’d never… I wouldn’t have said…” Merlin’s hand whips up to dash at his cheeks.

Oh hell, Arthur’s made him cry. Tears are one of those things he’s never been well-armored against and he feels his defenses slipping. “Merlin, stop it,” he insists. How is Arthur expected to stay angry with Merlin if the damn fool is going to come at him with tears?

Merlin ignores that order (not that Arthur expected anything different), and pushes his fingers at his eyes, wiping at them.

Arthur heaves out a sigh. This is getting ridiculous. “You lied to me for years, Merlin.   I took advantage of this situation because I wanted to know the truth, and I knew it was the only way I’d ever get it. Can you honestly tell me that if our situations were reversed you wouldn’t have done the same?

Merlin takes a ragged breath and reluctantly replies, “No, I can’t.”

“I didn’t think so. Remember, Merlin, you told me about a lot of the things you’ve done with your magic. Not everything you’ve done was with noble intent.”

“So what was this morning about?” Merlin asks suddenly, eying Arthur with suspicion. “With the ah… soap.” A flush puts pink in his cheeks as he gestures to the spot on his neck that Arthur had been caressing that morning.

Arthur just says curtly, “It was nothing. A mistake on my part.”

“But I don’t understand, why would you have… that was…” He can’t find the words to describe what Arthur did to him and Arthur’s glad of it. He doesn’t want to be reminded.

“Look. I had to know, Merlin. If… it was just the magic?”

“I don’t understand?”

“I didn’t know, Merlin.   I mean… there you were, looking at me like.” He presses his fingers into his forehead. “Looking at me with desire in your eyes.   And… I’ve never seen you look at me like that before. How was I supposed to interpret that when the first time I encounter it is when I’m supposedly under your spell?”

Merlin frowns, like he doesn’t want to follow Arthur’s logic, but can’t see any other way around it. “You were trying to push me, weren’t you? To see how far I’d take it. I mean, if I’d…” His mouth purses into a distasteful pinch. “Arthur, that’s deplorable.”

Arthur lets his head hang. “Look, if it helps, I realized it was a bastard thing to do and that’s why I left. I _am_ sorry, Merlin. I meant that.”

“And you’re an idiot.”

Arthur feels terrible enough that he lets that slide. “Yes, I was.”

“No,” Merlin insists, “I mean about never having seen me look at you like that before.”

Arthur’s head jerks up so fast his neck cracks. “What?” He cannot have heard Merlin right.

Merlin shakes his head ruefully. “I know you sometimes don’t see what’s going on right in front of you, but all this time I thought it was… well, more than obvious.” He gives a weak shrug. “I thought you never said anything because you wanted to spare my feelings.”

All that Arthur can do is shake his head slowly because… he’s hearing the words that Merlin is saying, but they’re just not making sense.   He tries to say something – anything – in reply; Merlin is just staring at him half in concern and half what looks like amusement. And he is not in this situation to amuse Merlin.

But he cannot find words.

Merlin does for him. “You really didn’t realize?” he asks like it’s as much a surprise as anything else that’s been aired between them. He lifts a hand and rubs it at his neck, just under his jaw. “Um, oh. Well,” he drops the hand and then throws both arms wide, “there it is then.”

Arthur still feels so, so lost. He wants to examine this revelation, to consider what it means for him… what it could mean for the both of them, really, but it’s too tangled in everything else that he hasn’t come to terms with. He can’t unravel these thoughts from all the others that are weaving through his mind like the warp and weft threads of some complex tapestry.

“I’ve missed everything haven’t I?” he asks plaintively. “I’ve been blind to so much.” He looks up at Merlin, an ache of despair nearly crushing him in its intensity. “What is so wrong with me that I cannot see things that are so obvious to everyone else and apparently right in front of my eyes? I mean, Morgana being consumed by darkness, Agravaine’s betrayal, Guinevere’s feelings for Lancelot,” he flips his hand toward Merlin listlessly, “and your magic. Why does this keep happening?”

Merlin looks devastated to be lumped in with people who’ve hurt Arthur so grievously. He stands and steps forward, tentatively, like he’s afraid of being pushed away. When Arthur just stares up at him warily he moves closer until he’s stood at Arthur’s feet and then he goes to a knee and his hands lift like they want to settle on Arthur somewhere, but drop to cross over his own thigh instead.

“There is nothing _wrong_ with you, Arthur.” Merlin says urgently. “You are a _good_ man, and a great King. You care for people and it is not a wrong within you that you want to see the best in those around you. It is a _strength_. And while it’s hurt you at times, it’s also meant that you’ve been able to give your loyalty and friendship and trust to so many people who care for you.” He sighs, wearily. “Unfortunately that sometimes means you can be vulnerable to people who would take advantage of that goodness within you. You cannot blame yourself for their weakness… their failings. And, I’m sorry, Arthur. To have been one of those people.” He can’t seem to help reaching out, and he sets his hand lightly over Arthur’s where it’s resting on the arm of the chair. He wraps his fingers around Arthur’s wrist.

“I’m not sorry about the things I’ve done with my magic, or anything I’ve done to keep you and Camelot safe.” He lifts his chin, showing just a bit of that stubborn defiance that’s always driven Arthur mad. “It is my destiny to serve you, Arthur. And I wouldn’t change that. I _am_ sorry that I lied to you all these years, Arthur. But that is _not_ your fault or due to any fault in you. It was so many things; fear of what might happen to me, fear of how things could change, fear of you turning me away and most of all, fear that if I were discovered I’d be unable to protect you.”

Merlin lets his head lower and he looks up at Arthur from under the shadow of his brow. “I can only ask you to forgive me and to please not let this ruin everything we’ve built between us. I will swear to you, here and now, that I won’t lie to you about my magic ever again. And I will promise to tell you everything… anything you ask is yours to know.”

Arthur spares a moment to wonder how it is that Merlin can do this to him. One minute he’s floundering… feeling as if the world will never make any sense and that he’ll be forever doomed to wrong-headed decisions and ill-placed trust. And then Merlin, just by virtue of being himself, turns everything around on him and helps him find his feet again. Makes him feel sure of himself and takes away the sting of even the harshest betrayal.   That, if nothing else, separates Merlin from all the others who have shattered his trust and made him question his faith. Merlin is forever trying to get him to find that faith in himself and won’t let him get mired in doubt.

He can’t help but think back to a year ago, when Morgana invaded and he learned of Agravaine’s duplicitousness and when he’d been so lost and had never felt so full of doubt about himself and so very sure he was not worthy of the crown. Ironically it was also the last time that Merlin had used the very same magic on him that brought them to this current situation. He remembers the despair and the darkness that had nearly overwhelmed him. And it was Merlin, with his silly stories and annoying pestering and unwavering, unshakeable faith that had Arthur believing in himself again.

“Merlin—“

“No,” Merlin interrupts, urgently, his hand tightening on Arthur’s wrist. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I know I shouldn’t push. That I don’t have the right. But I need to know if you’ll… if you can forgive me? Can we get beyond this? I… I need to know that I won’t lose you.”

“No, Merlin” Arthur shakes his head fervently and then locks his eyes on Merlin’s. “You won’t lose me. No matter what happens, I can promise you that.”

Merlin swallows and gives a small nod. “But can you forgive me?” he whispers.

Because it’s the right thing to do, and what Merlin deserves, Arthur thinks very hard on his answer to that question. He wants to say yes. But he knows that’s the easy answer and isn’t fair to either of them.

“Merlin, I cannot promise you that I’ll be able to entirely stop feeling hurt and betrayed tomorrow or… even months from now. And I cannot promise that I won’t react badly when some new truth of magic you’ve done, and things you’ve hidden are revealed.”

Merlin’s face falls, and Arthur can’t stop himself reaching out to touch him, to hook a curled finger under Merlin’s chin and press a thumb against his jaw. He holds him there, keeping Merlin’s eyes on him. He needs for Merlin to see the truth in his words.   “But I haven’t said that I won’t forgive you, Merlin.” He sighs almost melodramatically. “I’m still just trying to take all of this in. You have to admit that there have been quite a few revelations in a very short time.”

That gets him a rueful nod that’s stopped short by his hold on Merlin’s chin.

“And I’m honestly just… still confused. All this time, Merlin, you’ve put up with…” he gives a self-deprecating little wince, “well, me. I’ve thrown you in the stocks, and thrown things _at_ you and given you the most menial tasks to complete. I mean, you’re this powerful sorcerer, apparently.” He frowns. “So why did you put up with it?”

To his surprise, Merlin laughs softly at that. “I told you, Arthur. It is my destiny. And while it’s not always been easy, and you haven’t always been the nicest,” Arthur flinches again, “it’s the way things have had to be so I could always be at your side.” Merlin shrugs. “It’s never been anything I couldn’t put up with, really, and I know it’s been worth it in the end.”

Arthur shakes his head, somewhat in awe. Because he knows that if their situations were reversed, if he’d had all that power and didn’t have to put up with be treated so poorly… Destiny or not, he doesn’t know if he’d ever have been able to stomach it.   That just makes everything Merlin has sacrificed for him seem all the more overwhelming. It’s certainly a weighty counterbalance to the heaviness Arthur feels at the years of lies and hidden truths.

“Why are you asking for _my_ forgiveness?” Arthur has to ask, because he feels like he’s the one who should be asking Merlin for his.

“Because I need to know things will be alright between us. You said it yourself. There have been so many revelations in these past hours, I don’t…” He sighs out a breath that’s a warm gust over Arthur’s wrist. “I just want things to be okay and I need to know you can forgive me.”

“I want to, Merlin. I do. But, I don’t want any untruths between us. I can’t say for certain that I won’t misstep now and then, and react poorly. Is it enough that I promise to you that I will try? From here on out, I will try to be better and I will try to understand, and I will try to forgive you. Though” he adds with tenderness, “I don’t think it will prove too difficult.” He lets his hand fall away, leaving Merlin free to look away if he needs to. But Merlin stares up at him, a tremulous smile making itself known on his generous mouth.

“Yes,” Merlin whispers, “yes, it’s enough. Thank you, Arthur.”

He bows his head forward, pressing it against Arthur’s knee. As if he’s swearing an oath of fealty, or going silent in prayer. Arthur can’t help but reach out and lay a hand on top of Merlin’s head, like it’s some kind of benediction.

He means to just comfort with the touch, perhaps offer Merlin a bit of reassurance, but once his fingers touch that mink-dark hair, feel its softness, the touch becomes something else entirely. He slides his fingertips deeper into its thickness, scratching lightly at Merlin’s scalp, then threads them through it fully, and pushes his hand until it’s cupping the back of Merlin’s head. He can feel Merlin’s hot, ragged breath seeping through the knee of his trousers.

“Merlin,” he says softly in a voice that cracks and nearly breaks, “look at me.”

Merlin lifts his head and his eyes are so, so wide and dark and full of… need? Want? Arthur doesn’t know exactly, but he knows that whatever it is, he feels the same. He uses his hold on Merlin’s head to draw him closer, feeling Merlin rise to meet him even as he bends his head to bring their lips together.

It’s like no other kiss Arthur has known. Merlin’s lips are plush and soft and Arthur gasps out a breath between them when Merlin angles his head just a bit more to the side, to deepen it, make it just that much better. He holds Merlin close, one hand still tight-knuckled in his hair, the other coming up to cup Merlin’s jaw. Merlin surges even closer, Arthur letting his legs fall open to make room for Merlin’s hips, and his hands are claws clutching at the fabric of Arthur’s tunic.

This close he can smell lingering herbs and the soap he remembers from this morning and that lightning flash on Merlin’s skin. He tastes the wine that Merlin drank earlier to wet his parched throat where it's still a sticky remnant on those full, pliant lips. Merlin’s tongue flicks out and Arthur opens to it, sucks at it and teases at Merlin’s bottom lip with his teeth.   He kisses Merlin until he feels surrounded by him, subsumed by everything that makes Merlin who he is, and it fills his whole being with warmth and tenderness and love.

Arthur straightens eventually, panting, pulling his lips away from Merlin’s with reluctance. And looking down at him – kneeling between Arthur’s spread knees, mouth reddened and glistening - it’s so very hard not to lean back down and capture his mouth again. “We should…” he inclines his head, not quite sure what he’s getting at, except that he wants things more equal between them.

Merlin’s hands, having come to rest placidly on Arthur’s knees, slide slowly up the length of each thigh. His ridiculously lush mouth curves into a truly wicked grin. “Are you sure?” His fingers reach the draping edge of Arthur’s tunic and delve boldly beneath.

Arthur throws his head back with a groan. “Yes,” he hisses out reluctantly. “Because as insanely tempting as this… as _you_ are like this,” He has to press his hands over Merlin’s stopping their progress. He drops his head again, meeting Merlin’s hot-eyed gaze. “As tempting as this truly is, I’ll not have our first encounter be with you on your knees.” Gods, even saying those words tries Arthur’s will.

Merlin pouts, just slightly, and bites at his lower lip in a way that shows he’s fully aware of just how desirable he looks. “Just where would you have me then?” he asks breathily.

Arthur has to pinch his own lips shut against a whimper. He thinks it should be strange to see Merlin so wanton, to hear him speak in such blatant innuendo, but for some reason it’s not. It feels like just the natural progression of their normal banter and the tension that already existed in their relationship. Which, if he considers it, was probably a lot more like flirting than he ever realized.

“The bed,” he says hastily, afraid that if he doesn’t get Merlin up soon, he’s just going to give in to what Merlin is so clearly offering.

“I suppose I’ll suffer the indignities of getting in that monstrosity of bed,” Merlin says with mock-reluctance. He rocks back on his heels, giving Arthur room to stand.

“Weren’t you the one touting its comfort to me just this morning?” Arthur asks as he holds a hand down to help Merlin to his feet. He doesn’t let go once Merlin’s stood upright, just guides him the few paces across the room to stand next to the four-poster ‘monstrosity’ as Merlin called it.

Merlin shrugs, all loose-limbed and easy. “Well, yes, but I was trying to tempt you out of _my_ bed.” He clucks his tongue at himself. “Which, in retrospect, was an absolutely ridiculous thing to be doing.”

“Yes,” Arthur agrees, “it really was. _I_ should’ve been trying to get _you_ into it.” He snorts noisily. “Well, not that we’d both have fit.”

Merlin glances over his shoulder at the smartly made bed just behind him (so close that one push from Arthur would send Merlin sprawling over the top of it); its red bedcovers smoothed out neatly and folded back at a corner. “Are you sure about this,” he asks with a laugh. “I mean, I’d hate to make a mess out of your bed. Someone went to a lot of trouble to get it looking so nice.” And though he’s smiling as he asks, making it a joke, Arthur can sense that there’s a genuine question hidden in the jest.

He pulls Merlin close, waits until the humor falls away from Merlin’s face, and says. “I am so very sure, Merlin.” He presses a tender kiss to the side of Merlin’s mouth and then draws back to look him in the eye. “Are you? You don’t have to do…” he falters a bit. “You don’t owe me anything. My forgiving you is not contingent on my taking you to bed.”

Merlin’s smile returns, full and bright and reflecting in his eyes. “I know that, Arthur. I do. And I do want this,” he grunts out an emphatic sort of noise, “so _very_ much.” Arthur grins as his words are echoed back to him. “It’s just that so much had changed, so fast. I don’t want this to be something we’ll regret.”

Arthur presses his forehead to Merlin’s. “This is the one thing that I am absolutely certain I won’t regret.”

Merlin doesn’t answer him with words, but the greedy, almost desperate way he latches onto Arthur’s mouth and kisses him until they’re both breathless with it, speaks volumes.

“No,” Arthur says softly when Merlin breaks away from the kiss and starts to undress him. It’s too much like every other time that Merlin’s done the same. He can’t do this as King and Servant. That’s been a barrier between them in far too many other areas. He needs for them to be equals in this. “Let me,” he offers, gently pushing Merlin’s hands down and reaching for Merlin’s belt.

“Of course,” Merlin agrees, quite happily if the pert grin is any indication. “Oh, wait,” He holds out a hand to keep Arthur at bay a moment and toes off his boots and socks. While Arthur wouldn’t have minded sitting Merlin down on the bed to get at them, he has to admire Merlin’s forethought. Once that’s done and he’s standing barefoot, Merlin lifts his arms, and holds them out to make it easier for Arthur to get at the knot of the belt.

And it’s strange that for as often as Merlin has undressed him, getting Merlin unclothed is a wholly different experience and there’s no denying the inherent sensuality of it. He’s perhaps a bit more ‘thorough’ while he fumbles with the looping strap of leather, pressing his knuckles into Merlin’s belly, caressing Merlin’s hips, and once he gets it off he tosses it behind him where it lands with a slapping sound on the floor.

Merlin clucks his tongue. “Look at the mess you’re making.”

“Oh, I’ll make a mess, alright.” Arthur promises like it’s a threat. When he carefully drags Merlin’s scarf away, baring Merlin’s throat, he’s drawn to curl a possessive hand around the back of Merlin’s neck and press his lips to the spot just below his ear that he’d touched earlier. He can feel Merlin’s soft chuckle.

“So this morning wasn’t _just_ a test, was it?”

“It started off that way,” Arthur says, huffing a laugh into Merlin’s skin. “But this,” he kisses down the line of Merlin’s throat to his collar, “was all wet and bare and too tempting to resist.” He traces the tip of his tongue along Merlin’s collar bone, “And this.” He presses his teeth against it, biting down gently while his fingers clutch at the soft hair at Merlin’s nape.

Merlin’s head lolls back, pulling his neck taut and Arthur is compelled to suck kisses along the underside of Merlin’s jaw. “And this,” he mutters, the words slurring into his kisses.

“Arthur,” Merlin groans out, voice reedy.

“Yes, Merlin? What is it?” He punctuates each word with another nip, another swirl of his tongue.

Merlin makes a low noise, like a growl that vibrates through his skin to Arthur’s lips, but doesn’t say anything. His hands come up to clutch at Arthur's arms, tangling his fingers with the ones Arthur’s got curled possessively at his hip. It takes a moment for Arthur to realize that he’s trying, quite ineffectively, to tug his tunic loose.

“I told you,” Arthur scolds, slapping Merlin’s hands away, “I’m taking care of it.”

That earns him a laugh and Merlin obediently withdraws his hands, moving them to rest on Arthur’s waist. “Well, as I’m still dressed, you’re not doing a very good job of it.”

Arthur jerks his head back to glare at Merlin, who’s trying to look completely disaffected by Arthur’s practically gnawing on his neck, but the flushed cheeks and parted lips are rather a giveaway. To say nothing of the ragged breaths and thrumming pulse he could feel beneath Merlin’s skin. “Oh, I’m not, am I?”

Flashing a playful smirk, Merlin shakes his head.

Well that’s just not on. Arthur clutches at the hem of Merlin’s tunic and practically whips it over his head. It lands somewhere on the floor behind him. That earns him a laugh; Merlin’s head back and eyes so very merry.  He wants – so badly – to stop and admire the planes of Merlin’s chest and dark hair that trails down a flat belly and the divots beneath his hips that angle inward, but Merlin’s laughter is taunting and daring at the same time.

He can’t ignore the challenge.

The laces of Merlin’s trousers almost prove his undoing – how does Merlin manage this so efficiently when he helps Arthur with his? – until he just gives up in frustration and yanks the ends apart. Merlin huffs in annoyance at the sound of snapping strings, but that becomes a sigh of an entirely different nature when Arthur pushes his trousers and small clothes down to his feet.

Arthur has to step back; to just admire for a very long moment.

Merlin doesn’t appear to appreciate the scrutiny – he squirms and fidgets at first and swings his hands in front of him shyly. But he must see in Arthur’s face just how affected Arthur is seeing him like this, and that seems to spur a bit of bravery – and perhaps a bit of exhibitionism – and his arms go back crossing at the wrists behind his back.

“God, Merlin.” Arthur breathes. “Look at you.” The glimpse he’d gotten earlier that morning had been tantalizing and but it was nothing compared to seeing Merlin wholly bared before him. He’ll never not be slender, but every line of his body is sleek and lithe and unbelievably gorgeous. And if Arthur had any doubts about Merlin’s arousal, there’s no question now. His cock is full and juts out proud from his body, twitching slightly under Arthur’s gaze.

“On the bed,” Arthur orders.

Merlin smirks. “Yes, Sire.”

“Not ‘sire’,” Arthur is quick to correct, “not here. Arthur, please.”

Oddly the admonishment doesn’t seem to upset Merlin, instead it spurs something in him. He turns to the bed and crawls onto it, offering Arthur a tantalizing view, and then rolls over onto his back to nestle against the pillows. He crosses his arms beneath his head and presses one foot flat to the mattress, sliding it up as he bends his knee and then lets it splay wide.

It’s almost ridiculous how tempting he is. Arthur wastes no time in hastily disrobing. He’s in such a hurry he probably makes more of a hash of it than he normally would (unlike Merlin, he forgets about his boots until he’s already trying to push his trousers down), but the sight of Merlin laid out before him is making him dumb with lust.

“What?” Merlin pipes up, “I had to stand before you like some prize bull at the auction block, but you’re just going to throw everything off and fall into the bed?”

“Merlin, you’ve seen me naked plenty of times.” Arthur reminds him as he struggles with his final boot. It’s the last barrier between him and getting into the bed and if he had a sword he’d probably chop his own damn foot off rather than deal with it.

“Yes,” Merlin agrees, “but not… uh, in this context.” Arthur looks up to see him waving hand in a gesture that takes in Arthur and the bed and everything.

“Oh.” Arthur hadn’t really considered that. He supposes that if Merlin had been trying to hide whatever attraction he’d had to Arthur, he wouldn’t have really ‘looked’. He finally shucks the boot, gets the rest of his clothes kicked off his feet and moves to stand next to the bed, inviting Merlin to look his fill.

A slow, lazy smile curves up the corners of Merlin’s mouth and his eyes are covetous as they take Arthur in from head to toe. “That’s better,” he agrees and then he pats the mattress an instant later. “But that’s enough, c’mon. Get over here.”

Arthur rolls his eyes – God, the mouth he has – but he doesn’t hesitate. He puts a knee on the bed and crawls across it until he’s knelt over Merlin, and lowers his head to kiss Merlin’s waiting lips. He means for the kiss to start soft, and sweet, but Merlin’s having none of that. He gets his hands on Arthur’s ribs, drawing him closer, pulling Arthur’s body down on his.

The first press of their naked bodies leaves Arthur gasping into Merlin’s mouth. The feel of his bare chest, the heat of him… it’s amazing. He breaks away from the kiss to return his attentions to Merlin’s neck, and his narrow but firm chest. The sparse hair there is dark and springy under his tongue; it’s a weird sensation to run his tongue from his collarbone down to his peaked nipple.   And from the way Merlin is laughing beneath him – sniggering and gasping like he can’t quite control himself – it must feel weird to Merlin as well.

He feels Merlin’s hands slide up to his shoulders, blunt fingernails – because Merlin chews at them when he’s nervous or stressed – dig into the wings of his shoulder blades and then scrape down either side of Arthur’s spine. He has to leave off tonguing at Merlin’s nipple when Merlin’s fingers splay over his arse, one hand firmly gripping each cheek. The way he kneads and squeezes pushes their groins together.

“Oh, that is nice,” Merlin mumbles, pressing a kiss into Arthur’s hair.

Lifting his head to catch Merlin’s eye, Arthur mock-frowns. “What’s nice?”

Merlin’s mouth is angled up to one side in a very satisfied half-grin. “This backside of yours,” Merlin says as he lifts his hips from the bed at the same time that he splays his hands out like he’s smoothing down one of Arthur’s tunics. “I’ve always been quite fond of it.”

“Oh you have, have you?” Arthur skates a hand down Merlin’s side, over the point of his hip, and gets his fingers hooked into the flesh of Merlin’s lower thigh just above his knee. “I seem to recall that I’ve had my own things to say about your little bottom in the past.”

Merlin snorts noisily. “Yeah, I probably should’ve realized you were fond of it, as often as you’ve remarked on it.”

“It’s not the only thing I’m fond of, Merlin.” He drags Merlin’s leg up, folding it back and pressing down so that it’s almost bent all the way to his belly. Then he shifts his hips, rubbing his own painfully hard cock against Merlin’s naked belly, feeling Merlin’s dragging a wet trail along the top of his thigh.   Arthur works his free hand between them and his fingers stroke along the length of Merlin’s cock.

“Like this,” he says, voice going soft as he’s distracted by the feel of Merlin in his hand, so hot and silky and firm. “I’m particularly fond of this.” He gives a hard pull that earns him a gasp. He sidles down further, aligning their hips, and shifting so he can grip the both of their cocks in his fist.

Merlin hums his approval, practically purring it in Arthur’s ear. “Oh, I like that.”

He begins to rock his hips slowly even as he pumps his hand in steady pace. Their sweat-slick bodies slide together, and Merlin’s wraps his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, possessive hands grappling at the muscles that shift and bunch with every thrust. Merlin’s groans reverberate in counterpoint to those that rumble in his own chest, and Arthur knows that he’s close.

“No, wait.” Merlin reaches between them and clamps a hand on Arthur’s wrist, staying the motion of his hand. “That’s not how I… I want to do something else, please.”

Despite the tension that’s pooling in his gut and aching to spill out between his legs, Arthur loosens his hold and nods against Merlin’s chest. He can’t deny Merlin anything right now.

Merlin tugs at his sides insistently and Arthur lets himself be rolled to his back and once he’s there, Merlin moves to straddle him and pushes Arthur’s shoulders against the bed. He kisses Arthur, wet and messy and Arthur’s just letting himself get lost in it when Merlin pulls away. He must make some sort of noise or protest because Merlin laughs. “Just be patient.”

“Patient?” Arthur huffs. “I’ve been patient.”

“This’ll be worth it, trust me.” Merlin says and before Arthur can question what he’s offering Arthur feels the heat of an exhaled breath ghost over his hip, and then another on his thigh. The press of an open mouth follows, tongue laving flat against his skin, almost lapping at him. He squirms and Merlin chuckles out a laugh that Arthur can feel on his sensitized skin.

Arthur pushes himself up on his elbows once Merlin’s bracketing hands move off of his shoulders. He watches, transfixed as Merlin mouths and licks and bites a path from one side of his belly to the other. His stomach muscles tense and flex at Merlin’s lips; it’s just a bit too close to ticklish. That is until Merlin laves his tongue down from Arthur’s hip to the crease of his thigh and stops just the barest inch from Arthur’s balls.

“Merlin, you don’t—“

But Merlin shushes him. He rests his chin on Arthur’s hip and looks up at him. “I know why you wanted to move to the bed, Arthur,” he says, “and I appreciated that. But this is something I want, and you’re going to let me have it.” His words are a wicked promise.

Arthur wants to say something smart, to carry on with the lighthearted give and take they’ve had going on this whole time, but he’s too caught up in the moment and what Merlin’s offering. “Yes, yes… anything.”

“You can trust me, Arthur.” The breath from Merlin’s words ghosts over his cock and all that Arthur can do is whimper his agreement.  And even that high, whining sound is stolen from him as the wet heat of Merlin’s mouth envelops his cock. He wants to throw his head back and lose himself in the amazement that is the slippery slide and light suction, but he also needs to watch, needs to see Merlin’s cheeks hollow, and that plump red lip fitted around him, and the way that Merlin’s eyelashes flutter as he bobs slowly up and down. There is no way he’s going to last more than a few more seconds at this rate.

“Merlin,” he rasps out, barely able to get the name spoken around a deep groan when Merlin swirls his tongue around the head of Arthur’s cock. “Merlin, I’m not… this is too much. I can’t… it’s…”

It’s stopped is what it is. Arthur lets out a groan of frustration when Merlin’s mouth pops off of him with a noisily slurp, despite the fact that he was the one warning Merlin away.

“Oh no,” Merlin chastises, still in that ridiculously enticing voice… Gods, if Merlin had ever talked to him like that, tone all gravelly and wanton, in all the years he’s been dressing and undressing him, there’s no way Arthur would’ve overlooked just how much Merlin wanted him. “No, I’m not done with you yet, Arthur.”

And those words shouldn’t sound like a threat. But they do. The kind of threat that has Arthur’s eyes rolling back in his head a moment later when Merlin’s pressing wet, opened mouthed kisses around the base of his cock and then tonguing his bollocks.   He doesn’t stop there, and Arthur sits up, stomach muscles screaming, to protest, “Merlin!”

“It’s alright,” Merlin assures him, even as he’s pushing at Arthur’s legs, spreading them wider. “Didn’t I say you could trust me?”

And Arthur does, without question. So he lays back into the covers and throws one arm across his eyes and presses the fist of his other hand into his teeth to muffle the truly undignified noises that want to escape. Merlin’s tongue is… well it’s licking at him and teasing him and, oh for the love of… pressing into him.   He can’t help it. He writhes and whimpers and feels helpless and overwhelmed and a little bit lost…

Merlin works at him until Arthur’s whole body is buzzing with it and his tongue has got to be aching and he can feel how wet and hot he is down there on Merlin’s every, panting breath; and then there’s a finger just teasing at his entrance, scraping lightly around the rim. Merlin sounds hoarse and absolutely wrecked when he asks, “Can I?”

As if Arthur could deny him anything at this point. But he knows that Merlin’s not just asking about fingers… he knows where this is going. And while his every late-night fantasy of this very situation had them reversed (in Arthur’s mind, Merlin was always the one begging for Arthur to take him) he can’t imagine that happening right now. He doesn’t want anything but this.

He pulls his hand away from the quieting bite of his teeth and chokes out, “Yes. Of course. _Please_ , Merlin.” Perhaps he should feel ashamed to be the one begging, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

Merlin groans Arthur’s name against the tender skin of his thigh, and then he’s pressing in, breaching Arthur so carefully with that one finger. It’s an unfamiliar intrusion, but there’s no pain or discomfort as he might have expected.  Although with as thorough as Merlin was with his mouth and tongue… the whole area feels sensitized like when Arthur deflects a sword blow just a bit off kilter and the shock of it reverberates up his whole arm.

Arthur’s still got an arm thrown over his face but he’s letting the raw and breathy noises escape now. He doesn’t want to hold anything back. He lets out a very undignified yelp when Merlin slips his tongue into the tight space beside his finger, stretching the muscle into relaxing, and soon there are two fingers pressing into him. They ease in and out and then touch something deep inside of him that has white-hot sparks flitting behind Arthur’s eyelids and his softened cock filling once again.

And then Merlin stops and carefully withdraws the fingers and Arthur protests that with a low groan. “Merlin, don’t stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Arthur.” He says plaintively.

Arthur lifts his head from the pillow and drops his arm away. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to refocus on Merlin who is looking at him from the between v of his spread legs. His lips are swollen and ridiculously red, and his whole face is glistening and bright with color. In the state he’s in it takes Arthur a moment to understand what Merlin’s getting at. While Merlin’s mouth and tongue are wet and slick that’s not going to be enough to ensure things go… smoothly.

“I don’t care,” Arthur argues. He’s so ridiculously turned on, he can’t imagine stopping.

Merlin smirks at that but then shakes his head. “You say that now, Arthur. And I know you. You’ll tell me you’re fine and that it doesn’t hurt even when it does… you’re so stubborn sometimes.” He trails his fingers over Arthur’s cock, teasing at it lightly.

Arthur lets his head flop back down on the pillow. “Me?” he says with a laugh. “I’m stubborn?” He cranes his head back up, “Can’t you just,” he makes a flicking motion with his hand.

An adorable wrinkle creases the middle of Merlin’s brow.

“Magic, Merlin,” Arthur huffs out, annoyed that he has to explain. And a little surprised at himself for making such a suggestion.

From the way that Merlin boggles at him, Arthur realizes that it was, perhaps, a silly suggestion.

“Arthur, I don’t even know if there’s a spell for…” he circles his hand in the air above Arthur’s groin. “And I really don’t think this is the time to be experimenting with magic.” He grins then, impishly. “Could have unexpected results.”

Arthur glowers.

“I was hoping maybe you had some salve or something from Gaius. You know, that you might use for um…” He coughs delicately.

“Oh,” Arthur says. “I uh… don’t. Um, use anything.”

Merlin’s clearly biting down on a grin. “Oh. That’s good to know.”

“Armor polish!” Arthur blurts out suddenly. “The oil you use… There’s always some around here. Go and find it.” Because, perhaps, there may have been a time or two where his own saliva generously licked onto his palm wasn’t quite enough…

Merlin’s head drops against Arthur’s thigh. “Oh thank god,” he mutters. He pushes away from Arthur and knee-walks to the edge of the bed. “I’ll be right back. Stay there… don’t move.” He frowns slightly. “Er, um. That is if you want to do it like that. On your back I mean.” And then he’s off the bed and padding across the room.

Arthur absolutely does not blush. Though he does watch Merlin’s pert little bottom as he hurries to reach the cabinet against the far wall.

Only a few moments later Merlin makes a triumphant sound and then Arthur gets to watch him hurry back from the other side of the room. He looks slightly ridiculous; holding out the bottle like it’s some kind of prize, his hard cock bobbing from side to side with every step that he takes gingerly across the cold floor… Arthur has never wanted him more.

“Get over here,” Arthur growls.

Merlin practically leaps onto the bed and clambers over Arthur’s body to settle in between his legs. He unstoppers the bottle and pours a generous amount into his hand. He looks up to meet Arthur’s gaze brazenly and then reaches for his own cock. Arthur’s mouth goes dry as he watches Merlin slick himself up. He does it slowly, in long, lazy strokes and then teasing his thumb over the head and squeezing so tight at the base that Arthur can see the cords in his forearm tensing.  

“You’re killing me here, Merlin.” Arthur complains. He stretches out a hand but Merlin is just too far away to touch.

Taking pity on him, Merlin drizzles a little more oil into his hand, somehow manages to restopper the bottle and tosses it aside. (Arthur’s impressed; he doesn’t think he’d be so coordinated at this very moment). He reaches down to let some trickle over Arthur’s balls and down the cleft and he rubs it into the wrinkled skin and slowly presses two fingers in again. He eases them in and spreads them wide and Arthur can only take it for so long.

“Oh god, Merlin.” Arthur’s hands scrabble at the bed. “Enough, please. I’m ready. I’m more than damn ready…”

“Yes, alright.” Merlin gulps a little desperately, pulling his fingers free. He shifts forward on his knees getting into position and then he holds the base of his cock, lines it up until Arthur can feel it teasing his entrance. “You’re sure you’re—“

“I’m ready, Merlin,” Arthur bites out, exasperated and turned on beyond words.

Merlin smiles, knowing and devilish, and nods and then with one slow push, breaches Arthur fully.

It stretches and burns and fills him so full and it’s fucking perfection.

Merlin lets out a cry like nothing Arthur’s ever heard come from his lips and then he falls forward, catching himself on Arthur’s bent knees. There’s a half-pained grimace on his face, and Arthur knows that feeling… that he’s fighting to keep from spending then and there. He reaches up and rubs at Merlin’s shoulders, gentling him with the touch and with soft, shushing sounds.

When it looks like Merlin’s gained a modicum of control Arthur wraps his legs around Merlin’s narrow waist, using the strength of his thighs to pull him close and hold him there. He tightens his grip on Merlin’s shoulder and drags him down, even as he surges up to meet him. Their mouths clash in desperate, open-mouthed kisses and they stay like that, locked together and just kissing and kissing until Arthur’s dizzy with it and has to let his head fall back to the pillow.

“God, Arthur,” Merlin whispers, “I never imagined…” He braces his hands on Arthur’s biceps and bows his head into Arthur’s chest and slowly rocks his hips forward and then back.

Arthur swears, low and guttural. His fists clench tight on the bedclothes and he lifts his own hips to meet each lazy thrust.   It doesn’t take long for the tempo to increase, and Merlin’s long, shallow thrusts become short and deep and with each one Arthur’s cock slides between their bellies.

He didn’t think he could come like this, it’s so new and unfamiliar, but between the constant pressure of sweat-slick skin on his cock and the rhythmic sparking deep inside it’s not long before he’s moaning Merlin’s name and feeling his whole body bow up from the bed in a taut arch. And Merlin, bless him, just jerks his hips forward and back in little stuttery motions that catch that place inside Arthur over and over…and then he’s coming, spilling hot and messy between them with Merlin’s name keening from his lips.

Utterly spent, Arthur slumps back into the bed, breathless and gasping even as his body goes lax. Above him Merlin’s panting and sweat drips from his forehead onto Arthur’s chest, but he gets his hand on Arthur’s knees and urges his pliant body further forward. Each thrust sends a dull stutter of pleasure-pain through Arthur’s still-twitching cock.

Merlin’s movements become jerky and erratic and Arthur knows he’s just on the edge of release. He reaches up to touch Merlin’s face, tracing fingers over his cheek and down to his lips. “Let go, Merlin,” he encourages. “Come on, Merlin, for me.”

“Arthur,” Merlin groans out, his hips slamming into Arthur’s a few more quick thrusts and then he shoves in hard, tenses and gasps and even though his eyes are screwed shut, Arthur can see the flare of gold beneath his eyelids as all around the room the candles – burning or unlit – blaze up with columns of fire at least a foot high.

The flames die down as Merlin slumps down onto Arthur, collapsing like he’s got nothing left. Arthur cradles his head and traces fingers along Merlin’s spine until Merlin seems to come back to himself. He lifts his head from Arthur’s chest and looks up at him a bit sheepishly.

“What happened?” He asks warily. “I felt… I know there was something with my magic.”

Arthur just shakes his head. “You lit a few candles. It’s nothing to worry about.” He laughs, feeling oddly giddy. “I don’t think anything’s on fire, so we’re fine.”

“Oh,” Merlin says with a weary, but not unhappy, sigh, “that’s good.”

As it seems that Merlin’s still rather out of sorts, Arthur takes it upon himself to get them more settled. Much as he’d like to fall asleep with Merlin still inside of him and draped over him like some kind of living blanket, he knows that won’t be comfortable for long. He’s unable to hide the wince when Merlin pulls out, which earns him some sympathetic tsking and tongue-clucking and as revenge he’s perhaps a bit less gentle rubbing Merlin’s belly clean with the edge of the bed sheet than he could be.

“Ergh, Arthur.” Merlin complains.

“You don’t want to wake up dried to the sheets, Merlin.” Rolling to his side Arthur carefully manhandles Merlin until he’s spooned up against Arthur, the slope of his back pressed snugly against Arthur’s chest and Arthur’s knees tucked neatly behind Merlin’s legs.

“So, that was pretty amazing.” Merlin says, sounding sleepy.

Arthur makes a noncommittal noise. “Eh, I suppose it was alright.”

Merlin doesn’t even take the bait. He just drives an elbow – weakly - back into Arthur’s ribs.

“Fine,” Arthur says, mock-reluctantly. “It was rather impressive.” He presses a kiss to Merlin’s bare shoulder. “Now get some sleep.”

But Merlin’s already drifting, his eyes fluttering closed and so Arthur wraps a possessive arm around Merlin’s chest, closes his eyes and lets the steady sound of Merlin’s breathing and the sweaty, lightning smell of him and the feel of his warmth lull him into sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur comes awake slowly, easing into consciousness with slow shifts of his body and sluggish blinking of heavy eyelids. And it’s not from sunlight intruding at an unfamiliar angle, or the sense of the being in a bed other than his own (as have drawn him from sleep the past two mornings) but instead a soft, skirling sort of wheeze sounding almost in his ear that’s woken him. Arthur turns his head and smiles at the sight of Merlin’s sleep-slackened face nestled deep into the pillow they’re sharing.

“Merlin,” he rumbles out and is surprised at how hoarse his voice sounds.   Although, thinking back on the night before and the way he was gasping and crying out, perhaps it’s not such a surprise after all.

Merlin sniffles and buries his face deeper into the pillow.

It’s tempting to let him sleep, but Arthur can tell that it’s already late morning and as much as a day lazing in bed with Merlin sounds ideal, he can’t ignore his Kingdom for another day. He reaches out a hand to shake Merlin’s arm. “Merlin, wake up.”

Merlin slaps out a hand in his general direction, narrowly missing Arthur’s nose. “G’way,” he mumbles.

Arthur shakes a little less gently.

“Urgh,” Merlin groans. “Stop it, Arthur.” There’s a beat and then Merlin’s eyes fly open and he blinks up at Arthur.

“Good morning.” Arthur smiles down at him. And if there’s a bit of something threatening in the grin, well, that’s just because Merlin deserves to face the morning as perplexed as Arthur has the past few days.

He can tell the moment the memories of the night before (and all that it entails) come rushing back. Merlin’s face goes through a complicated shift of emotions, before settling on a rather pleased befuddlement. “Good morning, Arthur.”

“Sleep well, did you?” Arthur asks, too amused to keep teasing.

Merlin nods. “Yeah. You were right about this bed, that’s for sure.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “And I suppose the company had nothing to do with it?”

Merlin’s mouth twists to the side as he seems to think on that. “Perhaps,” he finally says with a sly little grin.

“Perhaps?” Arthur echoes? Just for that, he’s not going to let Merlin get comfortable again. “Come on, Merlin. No more lollygagging. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us!” He shoulders Merlin, jostling into him, shoving him halfway off the bed.

Merlin jostles right back and pulls the covers back over his head. “What have we got to do?”

Arthur exhales noisily. “Have you entirely forgotten what got you into this mess in the first place?   The false Druid?”

“Oh!” Merlin says brightly, pulling the blanket down again, and then sheepishly adds, “I’d almost forgotten about him.”

Arthur can’t hold back a rather wicked grin at that admission. “Well, I can’t blame you for that.” Smug as he makes that statement, he probably deserves the fact that Merlin hits him with a pillow. “Still, something needs to be done about him, immediately. So we’re going to track down this pretender, call that dragon of yours and show the Druid people that Camelot keeps her promises.” He slaps Merlin on the bare flank. “C’mon, I’m anxious to see my new Court Sorcerer in action.”

Merlin blinks up at him, baffled. “Court Sorcerer?” he repeats breathlessly.

Arthur shrugs. “Maybe we can think of a better title.” Merlin continues to boggle at him. “Come on, Merlin. Did you think I was just going to join you in keeping this a secret? That I wouldn’t take advantage of everything at my disposal in the fight against Morgana.” He shakes his head. “I said I’d come up with a suitable punishment, Merlin, and this is it. You get to become a member of the Royal Court.”

“Oh gods,” Merlin groans and pulls the pillow back over his head. His voice is muffled through layers of silk and feather ticking, but Arthur can hear him mutter, “At least I won’t have to do your laundry anymore.”

Arthur grins wickedly. “Who said anything about that? I still need a servant. Just think of all the chores you can get done when you don’t have to hide the magic from me. You’ll have plenty of time for _all_ of your duties.” He yanks the pillow away and leans over, lowering his head to just above Merlin’s. “It’ll be perfect. I’ll have you at my side during the day, and you’ll still belong here, at night.”

A huge grin splits Merlin’s lips even as his cheeks suffuse with red. “I think that’s a punishment I can live with.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Swirling streaks of blue and green and pink come together as Gaius slowly stirs a bone-handled silver spoon through the bowl on the table in front of him. In time the colorful mixture blends into a pale, shimmery blue-grey and Gaius holds his breath as he carefully eases the utensil free. He takes a step back and watches intently.

For a few long minutes nothing happens. He frowns down at the spoon he’s still holding, wondering if the merchant he’d bought it from lied about the quality of the silver. But then a soft hissing noise catches his ear and his eyes flick back up to the granite bowl. Inside the mixture is lightening, changing from that opaque dove-grey to an icy, crystal clear. A soft mist steams off the surface once the change is complete.

Gaius chuffs in triumph. He’s done it! He’s finally been able to make this precious concoction without interruption from Merlin or the King or any of the townsfolk. It’s ready.

Now comes the other difficult part. Bottling it.

He picks up a carefully prepared unstoppered, lead-lined flask with a pair of tongs, and slowly eases it across the space between workstations. He’s just about to dip it into the potion (the only way to safely capture the potion for storage) when the loud crash of his door banging open startles him.

The flask slips from the grip of the tongs and lands with a splash in the bowl, spattering droplets all around. Wherever the drops of potion have splattered start to smoke and hiss. A few land on his robes and he has to pat and slap at them quickly to stop them burning through.

“Oh, by all the old Gods and Goddesses, what is going on now?” Gaius exclaims.

He looks up from the mess of his work table.

It’s the King standing in his doorway this time, with a figure slumped against his shoulder. “Arthur?” Gaius suddenly feels alarmed. If Arthur’s carrying someone, there’s probably only one answer as to who it is in Arthur’s arms.

“He’s alright, Gaius.” Arthur hurries to reassure him. “He’s just passed out. Exhaustion, I think.” Gaius shuffles over to help, and together they haul Merlin’s lax body into his room and get him settled on his bed.

He presses a hand to Merlin’s forehead, and then peels open one eye and then the other. He palpates the glands in Merlin’s neck and checks his pulse. Nothing seems amiss. He tells Arthur this. “I’m not seeing anything wrong with him, Sire. I think you’re right that it’s probably just exhaustion.”

Arthur looses a little sigh of relief. “Oh that’s good. I mean, I figured as much. He was kind of woozy after –“

“What happened?” Gaius interrupts.   Because the last he knew, Merlin and Arthur were heading to the lands beyond Essetir to confront the false Ríastrad.

Which is apparently what they did, by Arthur’s explanation. “It was as Iseldir promised to Merlin the other day; the other Druids were able to spread the word about this man being a pretender, so, when we approached their camp, his number of followers had dwindled quite significantly. We tried talking to them, but this Ríastrad pretender wasn’t interested in negotiating his surrender.   He and his men attacked, and we left the false Ríastrad to Kilgharrah,” and from Arthur’s tone, Gaius gets a pretty good idea just what the dragon did to him.

“But,” Arthur goes on, “he still had a few folk with magic in his camp. Non-druids mostly. At least that’s what Merlin said. Anyway, they tried to coordinate an attack against us and Merlin…” He trails off a moment and Gaius knows he isn’t misinterpreting the awe and adoration in Arthur’s eyes. “Well, Merlin held them all off and managed to pick them off one by one. It was pretty amazing, Gaius. He summoned flames and sent men tumbling with just a blink of his eyes. He even used the vines and branches to bind those that survived. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Ah, yes.” Gaius nods knowingly. “Such a strong magical expenditure could definitely explain why he’s still unconscious.” He frowns. Something about Arthur’s story isn’t making sense. “But how is it that you’re here with Merlin? Merlin said that the false Druid’s camp was a full day’s ride from Camelot. I wasn’t expecting either of you back until tomorrow.”

Arthur rubs a sheepish hand at the back of his neck. “Well, that was my doing. I’m afraid I panicked a bit when Merlin passed out. I convinced the drag… I mean, Kilgharrah, that we needed to get Merlin back here to Camelot as quickly as possible. He uh… helped.” That little smirk just curling at the corners of Arthur’s mouth is quite telling.  

Gaius doesn’t shake his head or frown or roll his eyes, though he wants to do all three. Just what they need; the King of Camelot riding around on a dragon. “Well, it’s probably a good thing you did, your Highness,” he replies because Arthur’s looking at him like he expecting approval for his efforts. “But I’m relieved to say that your worry was for naught. I’m quite sure he just needs to get some rest, my Lord. I’m certain he’ll wake soon.”

“Very well, Gaius.” He coughs a bit sheepishly. “I’ll uh, just stay with him for a bit.”

“Of course, Sire.” Gaius says agreeably, as if it’s an everyday occurrence that the King of Camelot would sit himself at the bedside of his servant. “I’ll just be out here if you need me.”

Arthur nods dismissively.

When he exits the room, mostly unnoticed, he leaves Arthur sitting on the edge of Merlin’s bed, holding Merlin’s hand tight in his.   Gaius shuts the door behind him.

He returns to his worktable to assess the damage. To his delight, the fluid in the bowl still shimmers like liquid crystal, and the flask resting at the bottom appears to be whole and undamaged.

Gaius manages to fish out the now filled flask from the bowl using the tongs. He carefully inserts the cork and then rinses the whole thing in rainwater that was collected on the night of a blood moon.   As he does so a frisson of light shimmers over the vial and Gaius retrieves it from the water barehanded.

It’s ready.

The potion is for dream-walking. It gives the imbiber the ability to wander in spirit form, leaving their body behind for a time. It’s said to be an amazing experience and it’s something he’s wanted to try not only crafting, but using himself, for many years.

With rueful glance at Merlin’s door Gaius pops the cork, lifts the flask in a salute and then takes a long swig. Goodness knows that tonight is probably a good night to be as far away from his body as possible…

**Author's Note:**

> There is one scene where Arthur, in the guise of being simpleminded, gets a little 'forward' with Merlin, trying to coerce him into responding to him sexually. It's brief and nothing actually happens, but I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable.


End file.
